The Sandman
by Mrs Caron
Summary: Dive into the steamy romance mystery: Dr. Christian Grey, a gifted anesthesiologist, leads a very private life. When an angelic sexy massage therapist enters his life, Christian is torn between embracing their love or destroying it. They can't deny the heat between them.
1. Chapter 1 I Know Who You Are

**Author's note: Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at writing a full length story. It's mostly told from Christian's perspective, and I will really try to update regularly. I've given Ana a little more backbone to go with her smart mouth. They are both OOC, and a couple years older, since I wanted each of them to have a little more life experience. There is no Elena, so Christian gets into BDSM much differently than canon. He's still the complex, wonderful Dom we all love to read about.**

 **All praise to EL James for giving us these awesome characters to play with. It starts a little strong, but that's just my fun way to introduce our loveable Fifty with his wry sense of humor. Now, let's get this story going.**

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 1**

"You're squirting, Susannah. You're squirting everywhere."

The room filled with a moan that came from the far end. "If you don't tie that off now, our patient here, Mr. Donner is going to bleed out." Dr. Christian Grey, chief attending anesthesiologist at Seattle Grace Hospital, rolled his eyes, and turned his body away from the spectacle in front of him. He smirked at the words he'd just spoken.

How ironic. Susannah squirting. Of course he was required to be here, to supervise the surgical rotation of the third year residents. That was expected. What was fucking beyond, was that his former submissive, and world class squirter, the fetching Dr. Roberts, was operating in his OR. _What were the odds? Susannah, world's best throat, matched here in my hospital for her residency, under me for her surgical rotation? That's some shit storm._ Glancing back, he took her in, swallowing slowly as he remembered the taste of her. Such a fine ass too, that had a tinge of peach when licked by a belt. _Under me, funny._

Having shared enough of his time with the future saviors of the hospital, "Good luck," he sauntered out, adjusting himself through his blue scrubs. _I wonder if a remedy to this Susannah situation will present itself?_ Maybe he could find her a fourth-year elective elsewhere. Overseas, perhaps.

"Christian. Dr. Grey. Excuse me." Christian turned to the voice behind him. Andrea Parker, his OR nurse, smiled politely. "You asked me to remind you to head over to PT to see your grandfather…"

"Yes, thank you Ms. Parker. I'll head over now, before I start my weekend," and indulge in my latest obliging pet, the sweet tasting Leila.

xXx

Christian's Grandfather Trevelyan was a patient a few floors away, recovering from a broken hip. His dutiful yet distant grandson visited each day. The men had much to exchange, their relationship deep yet tender. Christian never shared himself with anyone, not really, but felt most comfortable with this gentleman, Theodore, a wise soft-eyed genius, who peppered Christian with the only advice he ever followed. Get into medical school and never look back. 'You were born to ease people's pain.' Christian had done that, administering drugs to dull pain, release anxiety, check out. He exited the elevator, and walked down the hall, turning into the physical therapy unit, the lightest he'd felt all day.

"Holy Fuck!" Christian slowed at the sight in front of him. A vision. He was blind-sided by a massage therapist administering to an amputee. A brunette goddess—with the most delicate hands—and he'd yet to see her face. She was in the midst of an intense massage, her long hair veiled around her head, as she focused on the skin below her. Christian was mesmerized. _Look up baby, let me see that pretty face._ And she did. Her baby blues met his. Beautiful.

"Shit…" She squinted at him—yup, he'd said that aloud—and she slowly bit down on her plump bottom lip to stifle a smile. It hadn't mattered. Christian had already fallen. Smitten by her delicate form and by contrast, those determined kneading hands. His chest tingled just looking them, the feeling running down to his fingertips. Spellbound, he watched her work. Her hands moved with deft authority, as she squeezed flesh between her fingers and tugged back forcefully, he felt his torso lurch toward her. But even her kind demeanor and inviting face were no match for his gloom. While his instinct said rush to her, and rip her hands from the asshole's body she was treating, he never would. He'd never let her see him for what he was…

"Can I help you?" she asked. Had a truer sentence ever been spoken? Christian was speechless. Moments passed. "You're staring Dr. Grey." _But how?_

Suddenly, he heard his grandfather, "Chris, I thought that was you?" Christian managed to find an itch on his face that needed scratching, to hide his blush. _Goodbye angel._

"Grandfather, great to see you. How are you today?" Christian grinned as only a grandson could, and they were off—a brief handshake, followed by polite concern. The two men had a pleasant enough visit, but Christian couldn't recall anything they'd discussed. He couldn't get that beautiful massage therapist out of his mind for the rest of his day.

xXx

As Friday evening descended on Seattle, Dr. Grey shifted away from his curative thoughts and responsibilities. Tucked into his supercharged ride behind layers of tinted glass, Christian headed for the peace and privacy of his home, the controlled safety of his weekend routine. He of course being the only human who'd describe his weekend habits as routine. After parking, he made his way from the garage to the main lobby at Escala, headed for the top floor, ready to dive into Leila, who should be already be plated for nude sushi.

 _What's this?_ The brunette beauty with the magic hands appeared beside him, entering Escala as well. She smiled again. However this time, Christian was ready, and he flashed her his best panties-dropping smile.

She started to laugh, but caught herself when Vincent, the concierge, spoke to her. "Good evening Miss Steele. How are you?" _Steele. Nice. But what's this?_ Vincent and she shared a look. _Is she fucking the goddamn concierge?_ Christian bellowed out "hello" as he stepped in the waiting elevator, pivoting to allow her in past him. Again his megawatt smile.

The angel with the perfect hands scooted past him and whispered on a beat, "I know who you are."

"You're from… Physical Therapy, right?" he feigned apathy. "I'm Christian…"

"Grey. I know. Everyone knows who you are. You like to fuck. Hard." She fake smiled.

 _What?_ A nervous laugh escaped his lips, as he stared like she was from a distant galaxy. "Where did you…"

"I'm Anastasia Steele." _And I'll be goddamned if she didn't just press my floor._

"Ana, I live on…"

"Yes. I know. I'm going to the twenty-ninth floor too. It's Anastasia. Only _friends_ call me Ana."

"Riiight. Anastasia. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. How do you know who I am? And that I like, excuse me, what you said?" This little girl is full of surprises. _Those soft tender hands are connected to that smart mouth. I'd like to fuck that smart… no I don't think I would. Christ, yes I would, but only if she wanted me to. I think I'd like to hear what she has to say. What the fuck Grey? Anastasia Steele just told you to go fuck yourself, she's not going anywhere with you. As if I'd ever ask. Sweet and tenacious._ It was unnerving for her to be there.

It appeared she wasn't going to answer. "Miss Steele, how are you here? Do you know someone in the building?"

"My stepfather, Raymond Steele, recently passed away. I'm staying in his apartment for the time being, until I decide what to do with it."

"Oh." Again, his body wanted to move toward her. To what? Instead, he mumbled, "I'm sorry for your loss Miss Steele."

They rode the rest of the way to the top without words. He maintained his silence out of self-preservation. His mind, focused on clear liquids, viscosity, millimeters and the logarithms of dosing. Maybe it's the elevator's tight quarters. Seeing her small hands knotted together. Christian shocked himself, thinking how he'd love to touch those hands. He never touched his submissives' hands, not really. They were always restrained one way or another. Bound, simply because he did not want their hands on him. He strove to be free of touch, from anyone.

And yet, in the stifling confines of this endless elevator ride, Christian Grey wanted nothing more than to touch Anastasia Steele, _'Ana to her friends.'_ This girl, with her amazing long fingers, and tranquility. HE wanted to touch HER. He had to get out of the elevator, he was about to expire. "Good night Miss Steele." Ms. Williams better be waiting, he soothed himself with the thought.

Another week of putting people to sleep passed uneventfully and fortunately for Christian, he hadn't run into _the_ Anastasia Steele again. This Friday, he rode the elevator to his stark sanctuary alone. The ride up was quiet, save for the clicking sound removing his Omega Seamaster made, the first step of his evolution into weekend Dom. Each day that'd followed their "fuck hard" encounter in his building's lobby, Christian had altered his disciplined routine, deviated from the norm, to avoid seeing—experiencing—her. Anastasia Steele.

His Ana. _Pathetic Grey. She's a normal human. She'd never be interested in your dark shit, and you'd never spoil her with it. Although, I'd like to spoil her._ Drop it, he admonished, as he climbed the steps to his , insatiable Leila, ball gag in hand, greeted him as he unknotted his tie. He paused in front of his eager submissive, and felt… separate.

xXx

At work, the following Monday changed everything.

He laid eyes on Ana, _her_ —in the D wing elevator—and he couldn't breath. Just sharing the same air was too much. She'd looked withdrawn, the spark in her eyes missing. Wednesday at dawn, he spied her while he ran through the park, her head down, past her hands on her knees. He approached her with a smile, but she'd waved him on, her hair and clothes looked out of order. Then Thursday, they found themselves alone, riding spin bikes in the gym—at 445am—exchanging nods and tight smiles. She looked bad. She almost reminded Christian of an alarming apparition of his birth mom, pale and sad. Gaunt. He wondered… is she ill? He focused on his course, until they eventually spun off their cool down.

"Hi Anastasia. It's good to see you."

"Good morning Dr. Grey. How are you?" She was polite, a little stand offish, climbing down to grab a foam roller. She had a perfect tight little body.

"Call me Christian." He huffed in her direction. He diverted his eyes, the hollowness in her own was too much. _She's definitely ill._

"How are you Christian?" Hearing his name from her mouth was… soul scratching. _It's not just her hands I need. I need? Dream on asshole._ He stepped off the machine.

"I'm good, very good. I'm fine, I just finished, and I'm surprised to see you here. Anastasia? You look very tired." Her eyes widened in surprise. _No, angel, don't retreat._ "I'm sor… I just thought, you look different." _How is it she makes me so uncomfortable?_

She laughed and tossed her head back, revealing her creamy pale neck, which pinked as she spoke. "I'm just tired. Exhausted really." She paused and cocked her head, staring. "Doctor, how long before you can be officially diagnosed with insomnia? I mean, I haven't been sleeping well. I'm not surprised you noticed. I hope it goes away soon. I think I'm just sad is all."

This time, Christian wasn't going to deny his body's pull. _Baby, no._ He floated toward her, and stopped, just inches in front of her.

"You're not sleeping?" She shook her head. _Fuck, she needs to sleep. Does she not have a physician caring for her?_ _You think it could be you?_ He shook his head to himself and clenched his traitorous hands. "Well, why don't you start monitoring when you do sleep. If you see a pattern, we can get our sleep specialists involved and find a solution. Hopefully it just passes."

And he'd get Andrea to oversee her visits, if it went that far. No way Dr. Felix would get to put his dirty hands on his— her, while monitoring her dreams. Christian's fingertips crackled to touch her skin, instead he dug them into his hips. She nodded a thank you, and the awkward moment dissolved on its own. They spent the rest of the morning talking about work.

"I'm a healing massage therapist," she explained. "It's hard to describe, really. I adopted several styles into my own, it morphs until I find what's most helpful to those who need it. A Chinese technique really." Her voice was melodious, calming and true. "I pull the pain out, absorb it myself, briefly, and then I flush it out later, when the patient is relaxed." She paused. "To be honest, I haven't been working, I'm taking some personal time. This whole sleep thing is driving my body crazy." Christian thought, _you have a crazy body_ , but he also felt something more than attraction. He felt... longing. _I can make her better. I want to make her better. To touch her the way she_ … _fuck! The way her just being, has touched me._ Her exhausted admission hung between them like an opaque veil, while Christian's eyes roamed every dip and curve of her exposed skin. His instinct forced him to retreat, and with a lame excuse uttered, he quickly departed.

Somehow, Christian managed to make it back to his apartment, just barely, before he disrobed, and quickly climaxed alone in his shower to the vision of Ana. Only in his vision, his hands were caressing her, holding her, pulling her body close to his. "Oh, Ana. Fuck, Ana." He finished his shower, a little shocked by his teenaged control, or lack of it. He groaned to himself. He had no future with this woman. He had to quit thinking about her, but he was invested now, concerned for her health, and he knew she needed someone, something. She simply must sleep. There were years Christian went without decent sleep. Only the necessity and routine of his work drove him to find a healthy sleep, and the occasionally exhausting sub. He scowled at himself for thinking of subs while he considered Ana's wellbeing.

 _What the fuck!_ He simply couldn't worry about Anastasia's sleep routine. _She's too good for your shit, and you can't worry about her any more._ "The shit has to stop!"

So Friday night, inexplicably, mere minutes before Ms. Williams was to appear for his weekend diversion, Christian Grey found himself down the hall from his apartment, on the other side of Escala, meds in hand, knocking on Anastasia's door. He barely heard her soft footsteps approach. As the door pulled back, a small grungy-looking dog pushed around to face him, wagging its tail. _Another fucking reason to tie this off._ Dogs like to jump and lick.

Ana smiled at him. "Christian, hi. What are you doing here?"

"When did we begin to allow dogs in the building?" Of course, his Ana had a dog.

"Oh, this is Sophie, she's a therapy dog." She looked away, "She was Ray's, my step dad's therapy dog." She bit her lower lip as she stepped back to allow Christian entrance. "Ray was a veteran. He had pretty severe PTSD off and on. Sophie worked to wake him up before his nightmares could take over. I just couldn't give her away, after. She helped him so much."

As she wiped a tear away, Christian's hand reached up to meet hers, and he squeezed. At the contact, her eyes darted to his. And he felt himself actually blushing. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, Christian. It's only temporary. Please. Don't say anything." Christian watched his hand continue to hold hers, while he nodded to her entreaty. He was touching her warm skin and it felt, right. He pictured sucking the tears off her fingers and kissing each one. His dick was amendable to that plan, and he shifted, embarrassed. _But why?_ As he began to pull her toward him, he registered what she'd actually said. _She's apologizing to me? She's killing me here. Make this quick._

He swallowed and started to say his piece. Short and direct.

"Of course Anastasia. I will keep your secrets." _You'll never know mine_. "I was thinking about our conversation yesterday, and your unfortunate sleep deprivation." He eyed their now intertwined fingers, and took a step back, dropping her hand. "Here, these are samples, a sleep aid. These should help you sleep, get you back into your routine. Take one every night before bed."

Ana slowly reached up to take the bundled samples. She swallowed hard. "Thank you Dr. Grey. I appreciate it. It's very thoughtful." She paused to mull something over. Christian had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from leaning in to brush his lips across her crinkled brow. "Christian, about what I said in the elevator that night…" Goddamn, his stomach twisted at the same time his ears tingled. _Leave. Now. She's not for you. You're definitely not for her._

"Water under the bridge, Miss Steele. Now get some rest. Good night." There. Done. Back to my life. She must be out of it, away from the gym, my early runs, where she can't invade my private life. He just wanted her healthy after all. Her skin to get its rosy glow back. He only wanted her happy. _Sure, lie to yourself Grey. You'll see her soon enough, in your all too real dreams that have replaced your nightmares._ _ **My life, my fucking life.**_

Ana was all he dreamt of now. But he knew if he spent any significant time with her, the little light left in her eyes would surely be snuffed out forever by his darkness, his secrets, and the monster inside would destroy her. No, it was much better to have the Ana of his mind as his only companion. There was no danger of death, in his imagination. No danger of disappointment as well. Dread or betrayal.

xXx

The weekend was passing easily and Christian found his work routine was enough to keep him moving forward. Miss Steele was nowhere to be seen. Grandfather Trevelyan had been discharged, and Christian resumed their visits in Bellevue, at his childhood home, over Sunday spaghetti dinner. Awkward was the word his brother, Elliott used to describe the evening. His mother was more circumspect: "Christian, you seem pre-occupied. I heard about your run in with that, what was she, an ex-girlfriend? Dr. Roberts… you never mentioned her. But Dr. Powers said you paid for her medical school? Is that true, darling? Why would you do that?"

Gratefully, Christian didn't believe Grace wanted actual answers to any of her questions. She was just trying—and failing—to connect. Christian was no more going to tell her about Susannah, than he was about Anastasia. _Why would I suppress Ana's existence from my family? She's nothing. Liar! A temporary neighbor who can't sleep. Yet, I want to protect her, closet her from my life as well?_

He returned home from dinner sullen and defeated, over a complete stranger. He couldn't have Ana, ever. Christian didn't even really recall the previous two days. That Leila had been with him all weekend, silent and raw? Her punishments harsher than ever before, but not the least bit remarkable to him.

 _Ana._

He wound down his Sunday in front of the television; working really—his own tutorial of effective interlocking drip techniques, an apt distraction, when he heard a knock outside his apartment. Gail, his house keeper, was not back from her weekend away, so Christian answered his own door. He peered through the lens, and his heart sank. There stood Ana, looking exhausted and shaken. His girl was broken.

Open door, grab Ana, slam her against his body and kiss her back to life. Instead, his hand gripped the knob and he leaned his forehead against the door and sighed, exhaling deliberately. He turned his head back and forth in frustration. _I'm so sorry fucking baby. I can't give you any more medication._

The entire weekend, he'd tossed and turned over his rash and purely selfish decision to medicate his beauty. To relieve her sleepless fog with the haze of drugs. He was a coward really, a history-repeating, stone cold selfish prick. Instead of comforting her, he'd offered her a light coma, a little dizzy side-effect, and definitely no strings attached. _Is she my crack-whore mother, and I'm her dealer? Asshole!_ He knew Leila's body had bourn the brunt of his guilt—his choice to push pills on a young innocent woman, merely grieving, over the death of a loved one. _A loved one._

He paused a beat. "Just a minute." He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled back the door. Cocking his head, he presented an open mouth smile, free of emotion, that didn't reach his eyes.

He calmed at the sight of her, her slight form twisting, and he caught a glimpse of her slim neck on a swallow. She possessed a haunting beauty, and a billowing reticence that called to a deep recess within him. "Ana," gulp "stasia. Hi, what's wrong? Come in, come on in." And she brought the goddamned dog. He broke into a genuine smile. _She's adorable._

He thought to himself, _'I can do this, I'll let a little of my privacy slip, and tell her my mistake about the meds.'_ She crossed into his apartment, into his very guarded life.

"Dr. Grey." She whispered, and his dick vibrated. _Sick fuck, she's_ _hurting._ Be a doctor.

He licked his lips, "Christian, please call me Christian. We are neighbors after all." _Let me hear you say it, baby._

"Hi Christian," she blushed, and stumbled forward through the foyer, her eyes down and possibly a bit moist.

Fuck, if he wasn't full of emotion just taking her in. Her submissive posture was tempting his cock, while her vulnerability threatened his existence. _Distance Grey, keep your distance, but look at her, she deserves a little love._ WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK!

"I can't sleep, sir." _Sir? Jesus Christ._ He pulled his hair to center himself. "I'm so sorry. I tried the pills, but they didn't work, and frankly I didn't like how I felt in the morning, so I quit taking them, and now I just can't get all these thoughts out of my head, and I've been awake since Thursday. You know I'm not working. Did you know? I came over Friday, but there was no answer. And I thought maybe you were out of town." She giggled, and kept going. "I guess I may have slightly stalked you, cause your car never moved. Where were you this weekend, if you didn't drive? Am I prying? Did you go into the hospital? Do you have surgeries on Saturdays? Oh, I made lasagna. Here," she smiled shyly as she passed him a warm tray draped in foil.

She's lovely, he thought. Frazzled and still so fucking incredible, his chest ached. _She cooked for me. Without a contract. You're an idiot._

She retreated into the main corridor, then popped back up. "Kale salad. It'll keep for two days. I didn't know if you ate carbs or anything, or if you were a caveman." Her eyes lowered and raised, taking in his anatomy. His hand automatically moved to cover his groin. _She's checking me out. Christ, what's she doing to me?_

"Smells good, doesn't it?" she replied to his noises.

And so Ana Steele stood in his foyer, her homemade dinner between them. What should he do with her? _She looks exhausted. Her body can't even stand still, swaying back and forth._ Christian was at a loss. He couldn't exactly fuck her into oblivion, til she passed out from euphoria. Well, he could, but she probably wouldn't like that. He groaned slightly at the thought. _I wouldn't like that either._

I have nothing. Nothing to offer this delicate creature. His mouth disagreed. "Here, let's take these to the kitchen. It does smell very good… An… Anastasia." Nice.

They briefly discussed the food she'd prepared, and Christian admitted he'd already eaten, and passed the food into the fridge. Ana had as well, she sighed, "Oh well, it's the thought that counts, right Christian?"

"And what thoughts would those be, Anastasia?" He couldn't help himself. He was aroused and chastened at once. _How do I escape this, I can't want her. I can't be with her. It's pointless. But she's here for a reason. She needs you. And I want to need her._ He grit his teeth and felt revulsed by his own choices. _You are damaged beyond anything in her imagination. Get her to sleep, and be done with her._ _Does she want to sleep with me? Selfish prick, of course not. She's an innocent. She wants your help. Doctor, you shit!_

"I think it'd be alright if you call me Ana, okay?" And he was fucking done. Her sincere blue eyes pierced him to the bone, his nose tickled, and he reacted by snorting to correct the tornado of emotion swirling up his center. _I want you. I want to be with you._ His hands reached forward and clasped hers. He smiled, returning her sincerity. _I hate my life_.

"Come," he pulled at her, "let's see if we can figure out a way for you to fall asleep. I may have an idea."

She shrugged her shoulders and nodded, letting him guide her into his spacious living room.

Ana settled into a deep sofa, and Christian doted on her, arranging pillows and a blanket around her body, so she'd be comfortable. As he finished his nesting and made to leave, her small hand pressed his forearm. "Aren't you staying?" Her touch seared into him, sending volts of electricity everywhere. He felt his non-existent heart shatter into a million tiny pieces that pulsed through his veins, swirling and unfurling, numbing him like a heavy dose of morphine. Numbing him to the reality he knew lurked behind his gentleman facade.

 _Oh sweetheart, if it's sleep you're after, you don't want to be anywhere near me after midnight._ His face betrayed his melancholy. Of course he wanted to stay. Could he stay? "Yes, baby." Being around her, in any capacity, was just The Best _._ "I know just the thing too to knock you out. Before your arrival, I was watching a scintillating documentary on rapid sequence induction. It's riveting. You'll love it." He laughed at himself. _That's new._ Grabbing his laptop, he maneuvered it onto the table in front of them, unpausing the clip. Christian Grey took a huge breath to prepare himself for what was next.

He reclined cautiously beside her, and she immediately moved a large pillow onto his lap and laid her head down. _Is she claiming me?_ "Do you mind? I think I need the contact." She giggled shyly, then twisted around to find his large hand, pulling it to her waist. "There, is this alright?" She closed her eyes. He squeezed her hip. "Mmmm."

Gazing down upon her in his lap, he watched the scene motionless, as though from a great distance. _This is real. I'm on my couch with this peaceful woman. She appears content and unthreatened._ He moved his hand to push her silky locks behind her ear, and continued to rub his fingers there, in a slow lulling rhythm. Her beautiful skin was the softest thing he'd ever touched. _She's perfect._ Within minutes, they were both fast asleep.

For five nights, Sunday through Thursday, Ana appeared at Christian's door. Food. Smiles. Connection. Small touches that burned. They laughed and visited, living in simple shared moments. Her stepdad's sudden passing rested heavily on her heart. The toll of attending to the burial, honoring the death, of a three-star general bled out in her every utterance. Ana was an only child and admitted that she parsed out contact with her toxic mother in measured doses.

Christian admitted his own distance from family, and his less than humble traumatic beginnings—the abused son of a crack whore who died in his arms. Even his adoption at age four, into a family committed to healing, doctors, had little effect on the separateness he carried with him still. Ana listened intently, of course she did, free of any boundaries. He spoke only half-truths. The half he wished was whole.

If he'd heard her whisper that they were _"two lost souls"_ he'd deny he'd heard it. That the comment floated in the air between them, like a shared breath, he'd insist he'd held his own.

It _may_ have registered with him that he was becoming less reserved with her, "opening up" to quote his therapist, but he'd convinced himself he was merely administering. Treating her insomnia with an alternative, more human Ambien. Ana needed rest, and Dr. Grey was the master at sleep induction. It was bullshit. But this anodyne thinking was his safe companion to the unmooring closeness her presence demanded. Healing for sure, she oozed calm. The invigorating beginning to each of these evenings inevitably led to a mended feeling between them. Each night, they ended up in the same spot on the sofa, where Ana promptly fell asleep in his arms.

Friday morning, Christian startled awake to a surprising sight and the most amazing feeling. Ana was cuddling. Overnight, she'd pulled his arm into her chest, where she gripped his wrist with both hands, all ten of her slender fingers a balm against his skin. He felt euphoric, and flexed his fingers to caress her delicate neck. He shook his head at the sight.

 _She is beyond any doubt the most beautiful creature in the world. She is good and pure and the truest thing I have ever known. And this must end._

Over those nights, Christian had begun to consider the possibility that they could be together. That he could possibly give something to Ana. She clearly had everything to give to him. What held him back, the but to his acquiescence, was his life. His lifestyle, his past choices, his dark side, his fucked up existence.

'You like to fuck… hard.' She'd called him out, within moments of introducing herself. _She knew._ Someone, somewhere had violated an NDA and shared his fucked up details with Ana. He understood what happened next. She'd drawn a line in the elevator that day. Hell, if she hadn't drawn the line… now, knowing her the way he knew her, _now_ —her fucking huge heart, her tenderness, her captivating mind and selflessness—he would have drawn a new fucking line every day he greeted her.

 _Fuuuuuck, it's Friday._ Leila was due at Escala later on. _This is crazy. Anastasia's not for you._ If he tried to be with her, if he managed to find a higher plane (within himself) to exist with her. He knew he wouldn't survive it. He'd never survive her leaving him—which she surely would—when she'd worked it all out in her pretty little head. Call it self-preservation. Christian even managed to convince himself, for a moment or two, that Ana was simply using him, to process the loss of her stepfather. He laughed at the absurdity. He knew. _She feels it too. She wants you to be different. Impossible. It was impossible._

Summoning his inner asshole, he collected his angel in his arms and stood, whistled for Sophie, and led the way back to her apartment. He fumbled with the keys Ana'd given him—'in case you need more honey,' she'd winked—and pushed his way into her place.

He was unaware of the decor or furnishings as he carried her through her home. He looked solely at her, asleep in his embrace, and drank in the last moments of their shared intimacies. _She's not meant for me._

He passed into her bedroom. In three strides, he was at her bedside, lowering her down, managing to adjust the bedding around her without a single grope. From his knees, he looked upon her as though in benediction. _God she's lovely._ He leaned above her and hovered. Committing every detail, her every feature to his memory. He loved her, of that he was sure. Enough to let her go.

He leaned in and brushed her mouth with his lips, a small violation. "I love you." He pressed their lips together and paused, to memorize how her soft breath felt as it tickled the bow of his mouth.

And finally he kissed her, a long slow kiss, pushing his tongue through her lips in a languorous unsteady stroke. "I love everything about you." He took her limp hand into his and caressed her fingers with his face, imprinting the feel of her fingerprints, the bend of her fingers, the curve of her palm. He squeezed his eyes shut to stem his emotion.

"Goodbye."

He rose slowly, and quietly exited her life.

* * *

 _Thank you to SDaisyS and Lanie Loveu for supporting readers and writers of FanFiction and giving us a place to gather on Facebook. A special thank you to encouraging us readers and FSOG fans to write. This story began as a one shot entry in a challenge, which I've outlined into a full story. I've decided to try writing suspense._ Apologies to anyone who works in medicine. Alas, I do not, so I experienced no shame in revealing the harmless ignorance I possess. Also, _please forgive me if I make mistakes. I can almost guarantee there will be moments where you'll groan at coincidences and I'm just gonna straight up beg you to suspend disbelief :) Let's see what happens._ _xoxo_

 _ **Thank you for taking the time to read. I love hearing from you, and I read every review.**_


	2. Chapter 2 Let Her Go

_Welcome back! Thank you for all of your support and encouragement. It means so much. And to those of you who read parts and educated me. I'm excited to begin the suspense. And see if Christian can really avoid Ana._

 _I hope you enjoy. xo_

 ** _The Sandman_**

 ** _Chapter 2 - A Week Apart_**

 _I put people to sleep. A lot of people,_ Christian thought to himself. His morning meditation ruminated on his clinical aptitude for observation, watching people. He was the master of When. When patients, or subs for that matter, reached their limits. When their pain was managed, when they were knocked out, in a doped up stupor, or an orgasmic release. He took pride in his control, intellect, power. But these past few nights with Ana, talking and sleeping, floored him. And he'd never felt safer. _With Ana._

Last year, when General Steele moved into Escala, Christian was annoyed. The building's management made a big show—a national hero, decorated war veteran, settling into downtown Seattle's most prestigious address. He brought his own security, his own curiosity, and more eyes. At one time, when Christian's sexual appetites were less harnessed, his subs slipping in between his weekday work, he'd considered buying the other apartment to ensure their proximity. There were only the two on the twenty-ninth floor, mirror duplexes, situated opposite one another, a long narrow hallway between, to best take advantage of the views. But Christian had found other effective ways to handle his weeknight cravings, and the impulse to purchase passed.

General Steele had been a ghost, while he lived down the hall. Christian never saw him. He hadn't even known what Ray looked like until earlier this morning, when he'd returned Ana to her own life. As Christian sulked out of her bedroom, assured that she was asleep, he noticed the clusters of black and white photos that adorned the walls of her place. Raymond Steele was a formidable looking man, a towering soldier in each photograph. In the few family shots, Ana's waifish form was so small, a sharp contrast. Christian paused to scrutinize a few. Was he spying? He sought out her tiny slender hands, even the sight of them soothed something.

When he'd woken this morning with her hands grasped tightly around his wrist, he was floored by his body's shiver. He could concede now, with a couple hours' hindsight, that he probably panicked. There was no need to rush her to her own apartment and breathlessly declare his feelings. He hoped to God she was sound asleep. She had no idea who he really was. The truth was, Ana had been sleeping so deeply, she hadn't meant to grab his arm. And that was a good thing, her rest and recovery. She'd looked so haggard all week.

By seven-thirty, Christian entered the OR dock with a clear mind. Miss Steele was merely another cured patient, tucked in her own quarters, nestling in a week's work of healthy sleep, dutifully administered by the most qualified doctor in Seattle. He took a quick glance at his Friday schedule, and a deep breath to clear his mind. _Much better._ A lazy smile passed his lips as he sunk back into Dr. Grey, the king of pain management. Tonight, Ms. Williams would erase any lingering feelings he stirred over the past few nights.

Grand rounds produced no surprises, save for the fetching Dr. Roberts' non-appearance. A relief really. The now tiresome routine of bumping into her, avoiding her wanton stares, and still pushing her to perform, had taken a toll. Her presence compounded his frustrations, Susannah had most likely been the leaker, the one revealing secrets to Ana about his…sexual preferences. _Fuck!_ He couldn't think about Ana and kink.

Two last minute propofyls were small blips to his schedule, and the bonus was there'd been no kids. Christian hated sedating kids. Especially on Fridays. The pseudo-drunken effects of their post-op recovery stuck with him all weekend. Maybe it was the way they smelled when they awoke, the odor took him to places he rather never recall. Drunk people lacked discipline. _Drunk children…_ he shook it off.

…

That evening, Ms. Williams appeared, dressed so shamelessly, like a cheap hooker, Christian inwardly cringed. How had he become a man with these desires? He was merciless—for hours, bringing her to the brink, only to leave her crying and begging for release. _Fuck her!_ He moved through his floggers and cats without so much as a moment's hesitation. Her aftercare took a full hour, Leila's simpering echoed off the bathroom's marble. And he was unsatisfied, full of dark thoughts and a churning stomach. S _ee, this is why? This is why Ana. You are safe without me._ He imagined it was Ana weeping, and he had to resist the urge to hold Leila's head under the bathwater until she quit fucking crying.

By early Saturday morning, he was done. Finished with Leila, with everything. Just having her in his apartment was unsettling. He was off balance. Ana had texted the night before and he'd ignored her. By morning, she'd reached out several more times, looking for answers. He calculated, how long would he have to keep this up before she'd understand? See that his distance was best for her? He wasn't fucking _abandoning_ her—helping her was more like it.

"Ms. Williams, I'd like you to pack your things, our arrangement is over."

"Mr. Grey, what? You want to end. This?"

Christian trudged away, taking refuge in his study. He grabbed the door and poked his head back out into the hall. He called to her, from an angle, so he couldn't see her shattered face. He was a monster, the way he'd treated her body over night. She _had_ to leave. It was clear she was never going to safe word, and until Miss Steele, _fuck, I can't even think about Ana in the same sentence as Leila,_ until Miss Steele moved out of his life— _her proximity diminished—I can't be responsible._ He'd lost control. "You'll need to find a new contract, Ms. Williams, with another Dom. I'm no longer available." He closed the door and stood, waiting for the sound of Ms. Williams' exit.

When her sobs became plaintive, he realized he had to appear to care. _Fuuuuck! Why the fuck is she crying? What does she want? She knows I hate this shit. She must have sensed this…falling apart. I've gagged her for a month._

He approached, "Leila..." just then they both turned their heads to the sound of the door bell.

A muffled address drifted down the foyer walls. "Christian?" His eyes snapped to Leila's which had raised to meet his. A knock. "It's Ana-stasia." Leila's dull expression brightened— _she knows something._ "Are you home?"

His eyes bore into her. _What could Leila possibly know?_ Christian lunged at her, quickly driving her to the opposite wall, his hand firmly over her mouth, slipping over snot and tears. He stared her down and shook his head. His Ana had sought him out, _she can never know my twisted life_. Leila's eyes reveled with mischief.

"Christian? Can you hear me?"God her voice was torture. He brought his finger to his mouth and shook no again. _She cannot find you here._ Ana sounded sad, forlorn _. I should have Leila in her ball gag,_ he grimaced. Ana's light footsteps moved away, back to her end of the floor, and Christian exhaled.

"Ms. Williams, goodbye."

…

Christian made it through Saturday and Sunday. His surgical schedule had been lighter than usual, and he'd spent his weekend kicking around the hospital, essentially avoiding Escala. He arrived back to his apartment near midnight Sunday, exhausted and resigned. That Monday, he couldn't avoid a morning ride in Escala's elevator any longer. He cursed Ana's perfume, lingering in their shared corridor, while he waited for the car. The sweet jasmine tormented him and his godforsaken choices. Tuesday, he bought a coffee in the hospital gift shop, another first, and a bone-shaped cookie as well. _Fuck me, I'm losing my mind_.

Her pretty smile was camped out in his every waking moment, his first thought in the morning, his last at night. Was she missing him? _Of course not, you bastard, you fed her drugs, pretended to give a shit until she found sleep, and then you fucking dumped her back into her apartment._ He'd blocked her number for good measure, just to complete the circle of untrust he swore he now occupied. He was safe again, in control. He thought.

Wednesday morning Christian surprised himself and invited his brother Elliot to breakfast at Arabesque, a cozy restaurant tucked into the rear of the Fairmont Hotel. Elliot Grey was also a doctor, a psychiatrist in private practice with offices at Seattle Grace. Christian arrived first, and was now swiping through pictures of Ana asleep on his couch. Elliot appeared in a flurry, smiling and nodding, removing his jacket all in one flourish.

"Hey bro, I hear your paying tuition for the med students now? How can you afford that?" He kissed the waitress, "Morning Donna, I'd like a cappuccino and some waffles. You look pretty today."

"Hi Elliot, have a seat. Nice to see you too. I ordered your waffles." Christian winked at Donna. Elliot froze at the unusual move.

"You okay, C?" Christian smiled. "Where're you getting the money? Mom said Dr. Powers was grousing about it last week."

"Mom and Dr. Powers don't know what the fuck they're talking about." _Susannah's mouth keeps getting bigger and bigger._ He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about med students. How are you and what's her name?"

"You mean Paige? You mean how are you and your wife, Elliot, my dearest brother? We're fine thanks. Grandpa T said you and he really bonded over the past month. He loved your visits, you know. I think he made mom and dad, and even me, a little jealous. He said you were opening up. Thanks, Donna. You even talked about getting a massage. That'd be a huge step for you, right?" HIs eyes focused on Christian's chest.

"I don't know. I just said some shit to make him feel better. Don't worry, I'm still your asshole brother." _He's fucking crazy,_ Christian thought. _They don't know anything about me. And when did I ever say I'd get a massage? I'd never let Ana feel my pain._ At that, he felt…indigestion.

Elliot's phone interrupted them "It's the hospital. I better get this. Hello? A loud, frantic voice called out behind the glass.

"What the hell? Are they screaming at you?" Elliot motioned for quiet.

"All hell's breaking loose. A woman's body was found in the stairwell of the Health Sciences Library."

"What? How awful. Why'd you get a call?"

Elliot looked at his phone shaking his head. "I don't know. She had Grey listed as a contact. Maybe she's a patient. I'll be in touch man."

"Fine. Let me know what I can do."

"Laters." They said in unison and grinned those Grey smiles.

Christian finished his coffee, and made his way to work, checking in with Jason Taylor, the hospital administrator, while he drove over. Christian had a month's worth of unopened voicemails from Jason, mostly likely requesting the paperwork for Christian's next charity mission to Uruguay. The call was short and to the point. Christian's non-participation in the last March's charity auctions was a sore topic of discussion, and Christian made excuses to end the call. As he turned into the faculty parking, it occurred to him that neither he nor Jason had mentioned the dead body. Did Jason not know?

A scrum of geriatrics blocked his entrance and he was forced to wait, a domino of cabs and vans passing him. His wayward mind played tricks with his eyes. Did he see his Ana exiting a car with another man? Maybe it was a lover, someone fucking her. No, definitely a lover. _Did she fuck? She knew the word. Drop it. You're working her out of your system._

The day dragged on and he found his thoughts drifting back to Ana, her tragic blue eyes and the palest skin… He couldn't do it. The memories were too… intense, too pleasing. Did Ana want his pleasure? Could he give it to her? Easy—no.

Squash sounded appealing. After some searching around in the doctor's lounge, Christian found his racket bag, tucked in the bottom of Jason's locker, not his own. That's weird. _I'm definitely fighting my own urges at this point. What does that mean?_

After exhausting two partners, and finishing a series of solo drills, he made his way down to the showers, twirling is racket at the neck in a loose grip. He thought of Ana's thin neck, the soft dip behind her ear, where a curl of fine hair… _Let her go._ He cleaned off and redressed. Back to work, all distractions welcomed.

"Let her go." He remembered Grace, his adopted mom, repeating those same words over and over, "let her go," as Christian cried night after night for his dead mother. A young woman too, who'd found solace from pain through prescription drugs. He did the same. Christian Grey anesthetized the suffering of others, he medicated away their pain. But Ana, she eased pain through her fingertips, her touch. He just couldn't. He just couldn't meet her there.

…

His phone vibrated in Neuro, while he was following up with neighboring brain biopsy patients.

Elliot text: * _You knew her. The dead girl. Call me.*_

"I'm not fucking calling him over some dead woman." Christian had no intention of calling.

Christian text: *Who?*

Elliot text: *S Roberts third year MD. Foul play not suicide. Sorry*

Christian just missed collapsing into a comatose patient waiting for a ride down to X-ray. The staff nurse came to his aid. "Dr. Grey, are you alright? You don't look good."

"I'm fine Lauren. Just call my mom, Dr Trevelyan." Why did he have such a reaction, it's not like he killed her. "On second thought, never mind. I'm going over to surgery."

He needed the peace and sterility of an open operating room to pace and think. He slammed the swinging doors, and pounded the table, disgusted. Susannah was a bright student. An amazing young woman. He'd spent the better part of a year with her, fucking her brains out, almost every weekend, and yet his lifestyle was the only thing that connected him to her. He knew there were no others in her life. No close friends or boyfriends, he'd ensured it. _God! My fucking life._ Part of him, a small part that was debatably human, would have loved to console her family, tell them what a great woman Susannah actually was, how she was so caring and generous, a voracious reader who loved card games, with a brilliant laugh and a sharp mind, but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything, without revealing how he knew her. Did she have pictures of them together? Was there evidence of their liaisons, their time together? _Evidence? Why are you thinking of evidence, Grey? Selfish jerk. She's dead and you're obsessing about your own image._

Lost in his disappointment, he'd made his way down to the morgue to see Susannah's body—it's his dead submissive. No life, like his dead mom, the hollow look in her eyes was similar to the look he'd seen in her.

Christian texted his brother. *I didn't just know her. Let's talk*

A picture of Susannah came to his mind. She was naked as a peach, save for her jewelry and heels. Her tussled hair framed her heart-shaped face, as she leaned against the bookcase in his library. Her legs crossed, soft hips turned out, she held herself up on a slender arm adorned with a dozen gold bangles. Her other hand played with the long pearl collar dangling from her mouth, caught in her teeth. She was smiling her secret smile, as her eyes danced over her Dom. She was talking to him, whispering. "He likes to fuck. Hard."

…

Friday finally arrived again, and for once, Christian had no plans. Susannah's ghost had been pushed deep to the darkest parts of his memory. He was alone. No submissives, no family, no work, no distractions. No tender-hearted, sleepy brown-haired beauty in need of rescuing. No pale skin to touch. _Jesus Christ._ He shuddered a bit, at his loneliness. _You made this fucked up life Grey._ It was after nine, he'd opened an old bottle of red a bit ago, and was enjoying— _fuck_ —trying to enjoy the solitude of a quiet Friday night as he stared over his grand piano. Ana's pillow sat nearby and her blanket draped across his body. He winced as he pictured her body draped across his piano. He'd made the right decision. _I'm no good for her._

His self-loathing reverie was interrupted by a thump at the front of his apartment. _Leila, what the fuck?_ He shook his head. There was a second knock followed by a small whimper.

 _Ana?_ He jumped and bolted for the door, shards of his broken wine glass in his wake. Panting and off balance, he slid into the jamb as he swung open the door.

He looked down and his heart clenched. Her dog. Soaking wet and covered in glitter. Although it wasn't glitter. It was…champagne?

" _Ana_!" He avoided tripping over Sophie, wiggling wet at his feet. Christian darted toward Ana's place, agonizing. _Maybe that damn therapy dog was for her. Is it her_ _fucking medical condition?_ _Seizure, heart attack. Damnit Ana!_

The door to her apartment hung open. "Anastasia? Are you okay?" He moved to the middle of her home and looked around, trying to still himself, catch his breath. "Anastasia?"

His body was on edge, "Anastasia?"

She was tucked into her pantry, sucking on a finger, corkscrew in hand. Drunk. She tippled back at the sight of him. _Really drunk._

Grabbing the wine bottle, Ana slowly emerged. A disaster, hair flopped to the side, bun askew. Her face was mussed, clearly from wiping away copious tears, and she appeared slightly swollen from the alcohol. Her clothes were painted with the signs of someone bingeing. Crumbs and stains, off-center and clinging.

A beautiful ruin. _God, I've missed her._

He was panting hard, his heart in his ears. He didn't hear her at first. He scowled.

"Dr. Grey." She slurred out.

"Anastasia?" _She's so vulnerable and…captivating beyond any reason._

"Did you come to fuck Dr. Grey? Tie me up-p?"

"What!" he shrieked. "Fuck no, of course not!" What's she saying?

"That's right _'of course not,'"_ she mimicked. "Why would you?" She shook her head rapidly, tears sheeting her red cheeks. " _I'm_ not Dr. Roberts, with her ' _sex' lips_ and scholarship ass." She huffed. "I'm not that hot lady in the stormtrooper boots, down in the lobby, waiting for you to come home." Something distracted her. "Quiet Sophie, I'm fine. I'm just Ana Steele from Podunk, step daughter to the great General." She twirled her hand.

 _Even loaded…_ "Ana, you're not fine. You're inebriated."

"Ohhhh, I'm Ana again." She rolled her eyes. His palm twitched. _You're a prick_. "Make up your mind, Dr. Grey. Christian. 'You can call me Christian.'" She mocked him. _Very inebriated._

"Ana, I'm sorry…"

She cut him off. "Why are you here?" And it hit him, through his haze of concern, his roiled anxiety— _she's upset with me._ The guilt stung.

He paused and waited. Slow down, relax her. "Sophie here appeared outside my door. Look at her, Ana. Did you pour a bottle of champagne on her?" He wrapped the dog in a dish towel to absorb the champagne she hadn't managed to lick up.

"Ana, I am sorry." He evaluated her, where she bent down to him, comforting Sophie. She kneaded the dog's matted fur, and dabbed the remaining bubbly. Her gentle fingers occasionally stroked over his. Electric. Ana looked up and his eyes caught hers. He held her gaze. _She's not that drunk. Water and rest, she'll be fine._

"Sophie has a limp, a sore paw perhaps."

"Perhaps,"Ana mumbled. She smoothed her hair, and squeezed her eyes shut. "You should go. I'd like you to go." She grabbed the wine back and took another swig.

"I'm not going anywhere…" He stood tall. His tongue reacted first to the little driblets of wine seeping down her chin. He bit his own lip to stem his arousal. He just watched.

"Are you eye fucking me, Christian?"

"No, Ana, _Jesus._ You're drunk."

He approached her and she stepped away, moving to arrange herself in the middle of her couch. Clearly signaling there was no room for him. _What the fuck is happening here? I just want to hold her._

"I think you should leave Dr. Grey. You wouldn't want anyone talking about us, now would you?" Her voice rose into a cackle. _Us? She'd imagined an us._

"What's that supposed to mean?" But he knew what she meant. He was private to a fault. It stung coming from her. He approached her, and flexed his hands against his scalp stooping down, going eye to bloodshot eye.

"I can't in good conscience leave you like this, sweetheart." He reached for her wine bottle, and she arced it back, where it bounced off her chest. She giggled at herself, but recovered quickly to eyeball him.

"I didn't think you had a conscience." Her bleary blue eyes lazered into his. Overwhelmed by her barb, he looked away, shaking his head.

He had no retort. This was ending, her terms, he felt it. She was right, look at her. And he did, gazing back upon her boozy self, another of his victims. Look what he'd done, and he'd never even touched her, not really. _Why was that?_ Her eyes softened under his intensity.

"Christian…" Her determination slipped a notch. _Don't feel bad, baby. You've been right about me all along._

He help up his hand, defeated. Enough truths. "Ana, is there someone I can call? Someone who can come sit with you?"

"Why, I'm a burden now?" She threw up her hands in exaggerated protest, sloshing wine everywhere, and knocking the last defiant tendrils of hair free from their clasp. _This woman._ Securing the bottle between her legs, she tossed her hair back, away from her chest, so she could inspect the red stains.

Christian shuffled closer. She was an adorable drunk. He shifted to his knees in front of her, and raised his hands where she could see them. "May I?" he asked. She shook her head no, and began to cry again, making the cutest ugly face he'd ever seen. His heart soared at her raw emotions. Quickly wrestling the tiny smile off his face, he reached out and cupped her flushed cheeks, rubbing warm tears away with his thumbs.

"Why are you crying Ana?" Did women always cry when they were drinking? He didn't think so. Maybe she's upset about her stepfather. She squeezed his hand between her cheek and shoulder, so innocent.

She stared at him forever, inspecting his face for…

Her mouth opened, sniffling a breath, but silence followed.

Finally, looking down, she confessed on a sob, "You're so gorgeous, it hurts." His heart beat so loud, it might have drowned out what she'd said. But he'd heard. He stuttered an exhale, more like a surrender.

"May I kiss you?"

She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head no. Her wet tear-stained hands rose to hold his wrists, as she rubbed her lips together. Those lips. "You want to kiss me?"

He breathed out a deep sigh, and pressed their foreheads together. Frozen.

" _Baby" He imagined he pulled her lips to his. They were slippery with tears, and she'd definitely been drinking. It hardly mattered, because it was the most intimate moment of his life. His tongue tracing along her lips, her tiny sexy moan, as she opened to him._ Ahhh _, her tongue against his. Christian was fully clothed, kissing a woman, The_ _Woman, unrestrained, in the middle of her apartment. The simple sounds of their mouths on each other sent him into orbit. He paused for only an instant, to absorb the moment, "Ana." Then he kissed her again._

He imagined kissing her into next week. Instead he held her there, suspended in his fantasy. He pictured it. _Their kissing escalated, as he shimmied her off the sofa into his arms, where she'd cling around his torso, he sighed in her grasp. She slid her body down his as he approached her bedside. Her sweet breath and giggling kisses had him floating. She moaned into his mouth, the vibrations and sound echoed down to his chest, and he just held her there. "You want to kiss me?" It was more than a kiss, though. Her lips held a promise. A pact to safety on the other side of a bridge. He pictured a wide meadow, green leaves around, shared grins and clasped hands. As their kissing and touching deepened, it wasn't safety she was sharing, it was… a life. A bright life with meaning and joy. Heartache and need. I love you Ana. Let me love you. Be with me. Heal me._ And then it was gone.

"Hell-o?" A sound behind him drew Ana's attention in an instant. Christian moved reflexively to kiss her, too late. She was quick and had leapt from the couch in an awkward mess, to stare at the dark figure in her doorway. Ana may have growled, he couldn't be sure what was real anymore.

"Your playmate is here, Dr. Grey?" Ana hissed toward the silhouette.

 _Leila._ Christian fought off a groan as he hastily stood himself up, momentarily registering his submissive posture, kneeling before Ana. He hustled to catch up in her perfumed wake. To what?

 _Goddamnit!_ Ideas and words fought for purchase, his reasoning fogged. Panic and aggression, and something new filled his chest. He was devastated. _Fuck me! Leila's dead. I'll strangle her with my own hands._ He was in a tail spin.

"Ana, wait!" In his haste to overtake her, he skid and fell, she was just beyond his grasp. He felt the sticky champagne, as he slipped to stand again. No. It was of blood. Swatches of blood everywhere. Someone was bleeding but the doctor couldn't care less. Dreams of kissing Ana were too fresh. Send Leila to a universe far far away.

His large thumb had only just pressed under Leila's collar bone when he felt the whoosh and slam of Ana's front door closing. Defeated by his non-kiss with Ana, his Dominant took over and his grip tightened. _She'll wish she'd never met me._ With both hands, he twisted her around and pointed her body toward the elevator. Without words, he waited for the lift to take her down. Forcing all of his strength into his index finger, he prodded her hip, forcing Leila and her most likely freshly bleached asshole into the open car. He sneered when she cowered, then wiped the residue of her sweat on his pants.

He took a moment to exhale his disgust, and ran his hands over his face. Looking down, he saw the bright red of new blood. And it dawned on him. Of course. Earlier, he must have stepped on the broken wine glass in his haste to get to Ana. He was on some adrenaline high, because the pain had yet to register.

He turned to go back to Ana's and spied her crusty dog, hovered over the floor licking at the blood trail. Christian actually smiled at the absurdity. First champagne, now blood. "This is your night isn't it, Soph?"

He knocked first this time, "Ana, it's me. That's my blood. I cut myself," he lowered his voice, though why, he wasn't sure. "I dropped a wine glass earlier, and apparently I cut my foot on the shards. Let me come clean it up." He felt much calmer, now that he understood all the developments of tonight's scene. Well, except for Anastasia. He could spend a lifetime understanding her…"Ana open up, sweetheart."

"You think you're the only one who's seen a little blood spilled, Doctor?"

"What does that mean?" She didn't respond. Sophie worked her way closer, and plopped down beside him to wait. "Ana, this is ridiculous. Open the goddamn door." He turned the knob. Locked.

"Language, Dr. Grey."

"I've got Sophie here." He continued to twist on the door knob.

"Uh, oh. Careful, you might have a witness now."

He shook his head and looked at the dog. Some witness you'd make. "Leila's gone, baby." He felt her lean on the other side of the door. "Ana, come on. You gave me your keys, I can go get your k…"

"They won't work."

"Ana…" Isn't that what he wanted, to push her away? He should be happy it worked.

"Ana, please. Talk to me. I want to see you. I…" _I want to finish that kiss. Or start it. I've missed you. So fucking much._

"I'm not surprised." It sounded like an opening, but the gurgle of her wine bottle tipping back doused that thought. "But I don't want to see you. Or that traitorous dog either. Good night."

Christian and Sophie walked side by side to the other end of the floor and turned into Christian's apartment. The blood stains that littered the corridor could wait for the building staff.

Christian set about cleaning up the blood, and pondered the night's events under the spell of Sophie's cute whines and sniffs. He closed off his thoughts about Ana. He shut down any spark of emotion that found ignition, every follicle of need that sought roots in her apartment tonight. He'd been too forward, she'd rejected him. Hell, she'd rejected her own dead father's dog. He decided to sleep rather than sort through the alphabet's worth of feelings he'd experienced kneeling below Ana, holding her face, her own hands cuffed around his wrists.

…

Sometime early Saturday morning, in the pitch of night, Christian dozed off, pushing his nightmares away. At some point, he felt himself succumbing to the sordid dreams of his childhood, but the sensations passed and never really roused him. He woke rested and relaxed, staring into huge brown eyes, Sophie's face, her big tongue and her panted morning breath.

The building's concierge, Vincent rang Christian with a small request. Ms. Steele had contacted him, saying that she believed Christian had mistakenly taken her dog. _Jesus, Ana._ Consequently, Vincent would be up shortly to retrieve Miss Sophie.

After showering, and more recriminations, Christian fried bacon in his own kitchen. A first—cooking for someone. That the someone was Sophie, his soulmate's dog, well, dogs are people too, right? Christian was grinning, it was probably all fucked up anyway. A plan formed, a way through. His... _apology_ , along the lines of sorry for trying to kiss you while you were drunk, Ana. May I try again? And about the submissive barging into your apartment. Okay, the plan needed work. His dark self was pulling at him to stop this farce, but he'd felt her heart when she'd leaned into him. She welcomed his touch. If nothing else, he wanted that feeling again, even it was fleeting. Even if ultimately in was unsustainable.

When she'd woken this morning, what would she be thinking? _By all appearances, she'd been drinking because of me. She wasn't stupid, she probably two and two together and thought Friday, I'm with my submissive, he cringed, and that's why I didn't want her around. I need her around. It's obvious._

After he cleared the plates, he bathed Sophie in his big tub, then moved back through his suite to his closet, where he picked out his favorite necktie. He blow dried Sophie's mottled hair and arranged the tie around her neck, in a big floppy bow. He laughed at a thought—maybe they had a future together, if he could keep her in a permanent state of inebriation. Then he pictured poor dead Susannah, and the funny aspects faded. He had a dark soul.

The door bell rang. "Come on Sophie, time to go back home." He opened the door to two serious men.

"Dr. Christian Grey?"

"Yes."

"I'm Detective Wheeler, Seattle Police Department. This is Detective Miller." Christian felt Sophie run through his legs. "Dr. Grey, do you know this woman?" Christian recognized Leila's phone as the detective held it up to show him a grinning Leila in her graduation cap and gown. "Leila Rose Williams."

"Yes. Why do you ask?" but Christian's heart sunk, he already suspected why.

"Dr. Grey, this morning we recovered Ms. Williams body. She listed you as her ice contact."

"Ice contact?"

"In case of emergency."

"Oh. That's odd." Christian rubbed his chin. What the fuck happened to her? How'd they crack her phone open? His emotions were shooting off like firecrackers. His whole body quaked and crackled. Peripherally, he noticed Ana approach the crowded scene with Sophie in her arms. His body rippled with want.

"Do you know her?" the detective asked again.

"I do know her. Yes, but…" He eyed Ana, suddenly overcome with exhaustion and shame. He felt buried and lifted at once. He stared at her hands, her arms. He longed to hold her, for her comfort. He longed for her _. Her._

"Where were you last night, Dr. Grey? Did you see Ms. Williams last evening?"

"I…"

Ana spoke, "Sirs, Dr. Grey was with me last night."

That surprised him. "Ana, you don't have to do this…"

Miller interrupted "Holy shit! You could be the victim's twin. Shit."

Ana's steel blue eyes held Christian's. "I've never seen her before. Dr. Grey was with me all night."

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**


	3. Chapter 3 White Asparagus

Thank you co-conspirators, pre-readers, and late night plot hounds mwah!

* * *

 _Hi everyone! Thank you for sticking with me this far. So this chapter has a couple flashbacks, just to let you know. I hope you enjoy it. I loved writing it :) xx KC_

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 3 - White** **Asparagus**

He towered over the massive Cornue, adjusted the heat with a turn of his wrist, and continued. "White asparagus is grown in darkness, without light. Denying the sun's touch to these delicate tips prevents photosynthesis, a process that infuses them with chlorophyl, and turns them into… something else altogether—from silky mother of pearl, to purple and green. It's a shame once the sun gets to the stalks. All that subtle, exquisite flavor is lost in the spring heat, to a stronger, acidic taste. It's not easy to grow." He conceded. "The farmers create this dark atmosphere by piling soil on top of the spears as they rise, and then cutting the stalks off well below the soil, where they're hidden from daylight.

"The vegetable is vulnerable, you see. It needs protection from the sun and other… _pollutants_. It's pure." Christian Grey grimaced. "It's a seduction you could say. Each stalk is coaxed out from the sand. Soft hands and the right instruments, help you jiggle and tease each one loose, gently and firmly, until you can grip the flesh.

"When you've plucked one, to say it's pleasant to the touch is an understatement. It's warm and firm. It's beautiful. There is such sensual pleasure there." He smiled at the stalks in their sauté pan. "See, the translucence survives the heat."

"As you might guess, all this extra labor, the care, make the white more expensive. But that's part of it's allure. The mystique of its creamy skin." He paused to fill two of champagne glasses.

"Proust praised white asparagus in _Remembrance_. Manet painted them with purple tips. I don't see the purple. I see this unique pale flesh, tinged with a rosy pink glow." He gave the pan a toss, sending the stalks tumbling over one another. "The pink runs from their heads, turning to mauve and azure—a brilliant blue for sure," he pictured Anastasia, "and there is a series of almost imperceptible changes to their white feet, which are still stained a little by the soil of their garden bed. But I notice." He nudged the stalks with a wrist shake. "They are _'a rainbow of… loveliness, that is not of this world.'_

"I've prepared them by peeling each spear out of its skin, from tip to base, revealing these creamy succulent interiors. I could have just dived into the raw flesh immediately. Instead, I prepared a light Sancerre reduction, with a hint of butter." He shook his head. "They're never eaten alone. No. I've married them to this delicate little sauce." He grabbed a spear and plunged it into a bright yellow liquid warming over a suspended water bath.

"Hollandaise." He swirled the stalk around, the sauce clinging to the tip.

"Here. Taste." He took two paces to his right and held the leg out to the closed lips of his submissive. She sat tied to a leather Cherner stool, blindfolded. "It's delicious, right?"

She swallowed.

"You may speak. What do you think?" He ignored her nod. "There are other white vegetables." He motioned, as he munched off the head and twirled the moist stalk in his hand. "Endive, or turnips. But they're harsh tasting and a dime a dozen. White asparagus, despite it's black origin, aspires to be eaten—tenderly, as a delicacy.

"Now sip." He tipped a flute to her lips. "Bolinger 78. A little blush wine with tiny bubbles to match. Not only is it's color enticing—you'll see in a bit—but the flavors coat your tongue and tumble back into the Hollandaise, and the sweet tang of the asparagus flesh ends up almost… vibrating as it makes its way down your throat. Mmmm." He hummed his own approval. "Yes?" He stared at her mouth.

"Don't fucking nod, Miss Williams. Tell me if this is true?"

* * *

"Dr. Grey? You with us? Sorry to be the ones to break this terrible news to you."

"Officers, my apologies. Please come in." Today is a dark, he thought to himself. A day for pallbearers and eulogizers. _Fuck! There are men with guns in my home. Leila Williams is dead. My Leila is dead. Susannah is dead._ A sound in the kitchen caught his attention, and he saw Ana reach for cups and saucers. _Why was she here? She couldn't fucking stand to be with me last night. And what's with fucking lying about being together? I wasn't with Leila last night. Was I? What is Ana doing?_

He turned back to the detectives. He appraised their appearance, and judging from the sagging curves and folds of their clothes, they'd had a long night, that turned into a long morning, and now this quiet early hour. They shuffled past him into his home. To Ana.

"We'll make some coffees. Ana, come with me." He dragged her down along the wall leading to his bedroom.

Once securely out of the detectives' line of sight, Christian awkwardly pressed himself into her, pinning her under his hips. He noted her grim expression. Sophie yelped and hopped down.

Ana's long hair prevented any meaningful squeeze of her shoulders, but Christian's eyes found hers and the crackling chaos around him ebbed.

Her fresh scent reminded him of coming about on the Grace, the salt air and sunshine would hit at once as he tacked back, pulling on the jib—a brilliant and exciting moment any day. Here, down the hall from his tragic present and future, this precious woman filled that same groove, she evened everything out.

Ana gave a half-hearted shrug and an audible tug at resisting. The exchange distracted him and he moved his hands to rest on the wall behind her. She let her arms fall to her side, in surrender, and smiled. She was stunning, makeup free, her raw vulnerability revealed in tiny dried salt, left over from last night's tears.

 _In what way does Ana look like Leila, assholes? Not even remotely. Ana's eyes are blue and she smiles constantly. Even now. She's a sweet puppy and Leila's a pit bull._

 _Why did she lie? Why the fuck is she even here? Last night she wanted nothing to do with me._ They had a lot to discuss. Now though…he inhaled to center himself again.

 _She's here. This lovely creature is with me._ He leaned into her further, sliding his elbows up the wall, in a cocoon. His shoulders flexed where she touched and squeezed. In a most uncharacteristic move, he brushed his nose across hers and his body tilted with one purpose. She motioned between them to release a sweep of her hair that had pressed to her lips and he grabbed her hand. _Why is she here? Because you wished it._

"Christian," she began but he cut her off. He pressed his mouth next to that soft spot between her lips and her nose, his jaw lingering around a kiss.

 _THE_ kiss. The kiss he wanted more than he wanted his next breath. The kiss that almost began last night, before Leila appeared, and spoke the last words he'd ever hear from her mouth. Possibly the last words of her life and the spell, now as then, was broken. His mind filled with visions of death. Leila, Susannah, his birth mother, so many others in between. _Death_. A match was lit that burned him clean through.

"Why did you lie for me?" He said with hunger.

"Did I lie?" her implicit probe into his whereabouts was outweighed as her voice vibrated into his core.

"Yes." He breathed into her mouth. _This isn't a game. She's knows this._

"Did I do it for you?" Her lips teased his. He couldn't bare it.

"Are you playing me?"

"No, I'm not."

"Then why do it?"

"You know why." He had no comeback. He didn't know. She squeezed his shoulders and maybe tried to kiss him (he'd think about that later), but he moved back with a motion to—pet her. Arranging her hair to his satisfaction, before adjusting himself.

"This isn't over." She looked defeated, but who really gave a shit right now? "Would you prepare some coffee for the detectives?" He sulked toward the conversation pit to face his past. Leila and Susannah deserved his full attention.

A text alert drew his attention. _Elliot_.

 _ **MSF is meeting now. You ok? Shift nurse said you didn't make it in this morning. Loop me in. I wanna know what's going on —E**_

Christian laughed. _Fuck me!_ 'What's going on?' _Oh nothing. I didn't make it in this morning because I was cooking breakfast for a dog and two police detectives invited themselves up to accuse me of murder. Last night, I almost kissed an innocent on the mouth, without restraints and now she's here lying to the police. For me. To top it off—Christ Grey, the way you think—to top it off, the woman I've been fucking for months is dead and I have no alibi._ Did he need one? _She's probably still black and blue from the punishments she took last weekend. Simply because she wasn't the woman who's standing behind me right now, peering around my arm._

 _I'm fine. Speak soon —C_

He felt Ana behind him. _Leila and Susannah. God, what happened?_ Christian knew he was lying to himself, and he was about to lie to the police. Making a point to see his brother later today was probably a good idea. Ana was bound to open her eyes and demand answers. He wanted a few answers of his own. He turned into her, to get a little dose.

She pressed her chin into his arm. "You unblocking me?"

His face curdled at the sight of her mouth pressed against his bicep. "Ana. Coffee. Now." His eyes pleaded with hers, she blinked slowly, once—to signal… _"yes?"_

 _Ah shit, Ana._ His mind left them for a moment, traveling far past the playroom, and back to the Grace on a bright, picaresque day where diamonds fell from the sky and lit up the Sound until it sparkled the same endless blue shade as her eyes. He was glad she was there. "I'm glad you're here." She nodded and turned back toward the kitchen.

 _I'll try to come in — C_

"Christian, shouldn't you?" She was bent into the fridge and he couldn't make out a word, his visual senses comprising his ability to hear.

"What is it? Ana, do you have a question?"

"No, it's nothing. Shouldn't you wait for your attorney? Or do this, I don't know," she motioned toward him, his pajamas the obvious object of her cock-eyed look, "later?"

"I don't need an attorney."

"Dr. Grey. _Christian!_ Don't you think… you should think about, at least call your fath…"

"Dr. Grey, do you mind if we sit down?" One of the badges called to gain his attention from over at the windows.

Ana rolled her eyes at the cop's intervention, and Christian sought to touch her again.

She had him completely turned upside down. _Susannah and Leila are dead, you creep! Cold. Never to be seen again._ "I'm coming." He squeezed her wrist and instead of kissing her furrowed brow, he winked, walking away backwards before turning to the inquiring minds of the Seattle Police Department. "I need a coffee before we begin. This is sad and depressing news."

* * *

Detectives Miller and Wheeler had settled into his Baughman chairs, relaxed and reviewing their notes. He couldn't make out their chicken scratch. Leila would be so disappointed they scrawled all over about her. The two men really were rumpled, the impression slowing him down. Last night, Leila had looked… different. Demure even. How had he not noted it at the time? Ana's presence was fucking with his Dom mind. Leila'd been dressed casually, jeans and a button down. She wasn't here to sub, she was here to talk. _Talk about what?_

He made a show of reaching for his phone, "Excuse me, sorry. I'm on call this morning. I'll only be a minute." He made a hasty retreat to the powder room, and slouched against the closing door.

Leila wanted to talk. Had he talked to her? No, he shoved her into the elevator without a word. Was that true? He couldn't be sure. Was his mind was playing tricks? _Think. Sophie was here. I had no memorable nightmares, I didn't wake during the night._

Was is possible he actually did talk with Leila? He saw her in her casual clothes. He pictured getting in the elevator with her, riding her downstairs. Had he awoken over night, and felt he'd been watched? It was a silly idea, Sophie was there, she would've barked if a stranger had entered his bedroom. _A stranger?_ He laughed it off. Plus he'd popped three dilaudid at midnight. He was effectively comatose until this morning.

 _Pull your shit together Grey, who the fuck cares what your ex-sub was wearing? You owe Leila. Help these men. Help them find out what happened to her. What happened?_

The door knob jostled. "It's Ana. You ok?"

"I'm fine, just a minute…" Why was she lying? "I'll be right out. _Ana._ " he added smiling.

* * *

Detective Miller began. "Dr. Grey, a few hours ago we discovered Leila Williams' corpse in Westlake Park. Her body was lying in the waterfalls on the plaza."

"How?" He knew cause of death took time, but fuck what happened? He could picture her pale form, faded to a dull translucence under the water.

"We don't know yet."

Wheeler chimed in. "Well, since we found her in the water, it may be impossible to determine if she in fact drowned, or was just placed there to make it look like she drowned. Her purse was near her body, which aided in identifying her."

"Her mom?"

"Notified."

"Thank God."

"You seem very upset Dr Grey." Christian realized himself that he was pacing. He took a seat to collect himself.

"Detectives, I saw Miss Williams last night for all of thirty seconds. She arrived on my floor briefly. Why? I don't know. I escorted her to the elevator and waited beside her until she was safely inside. We didn't talk. We didn't exchange any words." Christian spoke slowly and deliberately while they wrote. _Goddamn Leila, what have you done?_ Ana joined them, hands full with a makeshift tray of coffees and toast. Christian gazed at her as she approached to join him on the couch. She and Leila did share a minimal similarity.

 _Minimal. Ana is a goddess._ She relaxed into him, cross-legged, sipping her coffee. He watched the foam cling to the bow of her lip and hummed on the lingering feeling of his own mouth, briefly there a few minutes before. He realized this morning pressed against her, smelling her. He'd afforded Ana more intimacy with him—in that moment—than he'd ever given Leila or Susannah, or any of the other women in his life.

"You didn't talk to her?" Christian shook his head. "That's pretty unusual in my experience. A gorgeous girl skirts through downstairs security to ride the elevator to the top floor, and she doesn't talk to you? You didn't talk to her?"

"Actually officer, Miss Williams did briefly say hello as a means of gaining my attention, but I helped her depart within moments." Christian and Ana shared a silent moment of understanding. _I sent her home baby, I'm sorry she interrupted us._

"What do you mean?" said Detective Miller. Wheeler cut him off.

"Okay. Why was she here, doctor? Why'd she show up here before she killed herself?" _Fucking Christ, she killed herself?_

"She's a suicide?" Christian uncrossed his legs and slumped forward. He shook his head. "No. Leila wouldn't kill herself."

Ana squeezed his elbow, out of sight of curious eyes. "Let's just listen, okay?" He wanted to get Ana away from this. She didn't need this shit in her head.

"My partner is convinced she killed herself, however she had multiple contusions which indicate possible foul play. The toxicology will take some time, because of the water damage. This and Dr. Roberts' death, we're investing both cases as homicides."

Ana asked what water damage was, and Christian explained—while she rubbed his forearm—that there was a saturation point a body can reach which would complicate the various drug screens the coroner's office may want to run. Ana knew how to calm him, center him.

"Leila's dead. I can't believe it."

"Why not Dr. Grey? What was the nature of your relationship? Why would she list you as her emergency contact?"

Ana interrupted. "Don't you want your lawyer present, Christian?"

"Of course I do. But I don't have anything to hide." _Liar…_ "Let me get this over with." _So I can get back to you, angel. And start my own investigation._ Ana was right. _I should wait._

Christian couldn't describe their relationship, at all. "Officer Wheeler, I can't answer that. I have no idea why she would list me. We'e been acquainted for several years. We see each other from time to time." He trusted that that sounded as vague as he'd hoped. _I'm her emergency contact because I knew her better than anyone. I've known her half my life, goddamnit_!

* * *

Christian Grey met Leila Williams in the Emergency Department years ago. She'd suffered a high ankle sprain—the swelling was well-developed even before her signature was dry on the admission forms. He was in the ED rotation of his residency and remembered initially groaning at having to deal with the salivating mother-daughter duo. They wore identical come hither smiles as he pulled back the exam curtain.

Leila presented her symptoms without fuss, and quietly gawked at him as he rotated and swiveled her slender foot. When he'd touched her even slightly, it was clear she was in pain, yet she stared at him straight through, declaring her high pain tolerance in a challenge over her ankle boot. His eyes lingered over her pretty face far too long, as he muttered her discharge instructions. Before she left the hospital that night, Christian found himself glancing back over to her, several times. Each time, her eyes immediately looked down. He was curious about her pain tolerance—the sprain was high and awkward.

He'd been only mildly surprised to spot Leila several weeks later at The Drone, a downtown dungeon, and Christian's principle place to hook up with those likeminded souls. It was located in the downstairs of an unremarkable building downtown, leaning against a tacky souvenir shop. Several tenants shared the property, including a small Jehovah's Witness outpost, a Korean-American language school, as well as a tailor, which Christian suspected was a cover for something else entirely, as he never saw any men leaving with clothes. The Drone was, for lack of better description, a safe haven for perverts. A true melting pot for anyone looking to indulge in their deepest desires of sensory pleasure and pain. Christian found Leila at a Black Party, amid yards of leather, bondage and staged sex stunts. They scened that night in his home, she without ever speaking a word. He simply handed her his list and she nodded. Christian found bliss in Leila—or what passed for his kind of bliss with a woman. Thereafter, most Sunday nights, he felt sated. Well-fucked and wrung out. Peace. She was his longest contract, two years ago. They were on their fifth agreement when his brother, Elliot passed her one night in the Escala lobbies.

"Holy shit! Christian! I just saw Whacko downstairs in the garage. I haven't seen her forever."

"What are you talking about? Who's Whacko?"

"Leila Wachowski, from prep school. Just saw her downstairs. She looked hot as fuck!" Never. Christian would never have remembered Leila from school. He only knew her as Leila Williams, female ankle sprain, high pain threshold and a fucking shibari savant.

"I don't recall her. Interesting. It's a big building, Elliot. I don't know everyone."

He'd ended their contract that night with a terse phone call that his schedule had changed. That was… two years ago.

She'd reappeared in his life two months ago and it was almost a homecoming. He needed to stay away from The Drone for a while, so it was a welcomed surprise when he came home to find Leila Williams, nee Wachowski, kneeling outside his apartment entrance. For how long, he had no idea. It was the same night he returned from California. He was fried, and her timing couldn't have been better, it was like she knew he needed her.

Maybe she was topping from the bottom, but he craved her that night. The familiar, the animal she brought out in him. It was intense. And he realized reluctantly, that even if he chose to ignore her timing, her presence, he wanted the release only she could bring.

Again they scened in silence. Leila seemed almost desperate for the connection. And her demeanor—she was like some sort of… pliable doll under his possession. Her eyes were so intense that, even though their arrangements dictated eye contact in silent scenes, he covered them anyway. Her defiance only fueled his dominance, and he worked her over for hours. How dare she show up after two years—on the heels of the week he'd had—and think she could look through him with her glassy eyes, and simpering demeanor. No, he covered that shit up in silk velvet and beat her ass red. She declined aftercare, and cleaned him up with her tongue before kneeling in his shower, waiting for more instructions. And again, when Christian woke that next morning, his world had righted. The discord in Malibu forgotten. Maybe she really was meant to be his. Until Ana.

Damn his mind for putting Ana in the same thought as Leila.

* * *

Apparently, he'd been answering questions, during his trip down memory lane.

"Have you talked to anyone else? Did she go anywhere after she left here? It was somewhat early." Christian wanted to ask Ana, but remembered her weird lie that she'd never seen Leila before. "I think it was nearing 8pm, but I'm not sure. There should be feeds in the building."

"Let us worry about the closed circuits, doctor. We're well aware." He felt Ana shift.

They were well aware. What did that mean? Christian suddenly felt spied upon. Not just right now, but last night too, a bizarre thought. _I was with Sophie, I did feel watched._ Maybe the damn dog watched him. _What's on those feeds?_

Christian reminded himself to keep this short. _Get these fuckers out of here, and look at Ana. She calms you._ Ana seemed really agitated by all of this. _God, her dead dad. I'm a royal shit._

The detectives were talking but he'd tuned them out. "Ana," he shifted to give her his full attention. "Why don't you go back to your place, I'll be fine."

She scrunched her eyes up to study his expression, then smiled. "No, I'll just shower here, if that's alright?" Yes, please. He was sure he wore a goofy grin. _Whiplash. She's giving me whiplash._

"Yes it's alright, Ana. Please do." He almost chuckled at her enthusiasm, but it was all a show. When her eyes met his, they revealed a hollowness he'd not seen in sometime. _No it wasn't alright, Anastasia._ _Not by a long shot. What the fuck is happening? I need space. Christ. Am I overreacting? Maybe Ana is simply worried about me. The same woman last night was in no way worried about me._

 _It's something else. Something she's not telling me. She thinks I'm responsible. Who the fuck are you kidding? You are. If it weren't for you, Leila would surely be alive._

* * *

Christian couldn't help his own bittersweet smile as it slipped. Leila had always been so remembered the spring asparagus. That night was a favorite of his mental highlights that turned to shit. How Leila'd been so disobedient over dinner. By the time they'd made it through their first scene in the playroom, she had writhed much too freely, while he'd dripped warm hollandaise through her cleft, finger fucked her and sucked her dry. Her squirming was distracting, he thought she was being super-subby— _her made up words—_ so much so, he wanted to push her limits and see just how much punishment she could take.

He had decided to play a game with her in that moment. He cuffed her wrists and ankles, left to left and right to right—then whipped her with a wet belt. He'd worked her up to red three times. After a considerable break, having left her tied up, he came back to start again.

A couple strokes in, he'd heard her mumble something. Aware how he'd pushed her earlier, he didn't want to risk any triggers, so his protocol kicked in and he stopped immediately to pull down her silk gag.

"You may speak."

She mumbled again, and it sounded like she'd said, _I missed you sir._

"Did you say you missed me, Miss Williams?"

She nodded.

He slapped her thigh. "Words Leila!"

"I missed you."

Fuck! The scene was over. And not on his terms. Leila was his perfect match, yet she was talking shit about a different arrangement altogether.

Christian had tossed the keys next to her cuffed limbs and exited. His last glance back that night was an image of his ideal sub, trying to curl into a ball, a crumpled up shell. He should have ended it that night, six weeks ago. But Leila called to him on a different level and he'd renewed their contract, continued until a week ago. And now this…. this _human disaster_ he'd become. Poor Leila, dead in some six inches of tepid filthy public works water, the city of Seattle's honor to fallen soldiers. _Dead and drowned._ He imagined her swollen and pale, her eyes flat and haunting, the same as that night. The night she admitted she missed him—after he'd whipped her senseless.

* * *

All three men watched Ana move down the far hallway out of view. The atmosphere in the room sagged and gathered the humidity of fresh mourners. The cops wasted no time changing their demeanor.

"Some routine questions doctor. What's your cell phone number?"

He shared it, adding, "I recently turned my phone over to get a new number. About a month ago. It was a big hassle, with regard to physician protocols. I'd appreciate it if you didn't share the number beyond us, thank you."

"You got a new phone number? Why go through the hassle?" Well, shit, he didn't want to encourage their questions.

"I was getting odd calls. I think I must have had a recycled number, right? There were several odd numbers that appeared, some texts and pages that came through, they led to nothing. No return numbers, or messages. Nothing. Funny, at the time I remember thinking was I imagining it? I'd only had the actual phone for a few weeks."

"Back to Miss Williams. Can you think of anyone who had a problem with her, doctor?" He indicated he didn't. "Any legal disputes, she have any personal debts or recent big life changes?"

"Not that I'm aware." He knew scant information about her personal life.

Detective Wheeler glanced back to the hall where Ana had disappeared, then started swiping through photo after photo of Leila, dead, on his iPad. He winced, peering down at the grisly photos, tipping them in Christian's direction. "Miss Williams had multiple faded bruises and red marks all over her body. There were several layers of bruising."

 _Except her face._

"Except her face." Miller clarified. "What a looker. It's a shame." Christian's stomach turned over.

"As my partner said, toxicology may take a few weeks." Miller shifted his weight and hiked at his pants. "Did you know she was a drug user?" Christian scoffed. _Leila would never touch drugs._

"I'm sorry officer, I did not. I would not have known. That would have surprised me."

"You know your way around drugs pretty well, don't you, doctor? You're ah… anestitiz…"

"Anesthesiologist. Yes, I safely administer many pharmaceuticals to patients, according to proper protocols, within the scope of medical treatments and surgeries."

"And you're the big time Doctors without Borders poster boy, right?" He reluctantly nodded, and tensed at the thought of where they were headed. "I'm just not understanding what's happened. Why we are here, doctor?" Christian crossed his arms, rolled his neck, and exhaled looking down his nose at the two detectives.

"Ms. Williams was on your floor _last night_. You've admitted you knew her, yet you have no helpful information to share. And you claim that you don't know anything about her personal life or her drug habits."

"Your point?"

"Ooooh, my point. You want my point? Why the fuck did you know Leila Williams? And how the fuck did she know Dr. Roberts, your cute little charity case of a med student?" Christian maintained his calm exterior, but inside he seethed over the audacity that his career somehow made him suspect. This was over. He needed to move them along politely, and begin to piece together the last several days for himself and Leila, he owed it to her. And Susannah.

"We had…" shared interests "we had acquaintances in common. And I'm afraid that's all I can say at this time. I have an important meeting to attend. They're most likely waiting for me to arrive." Christian began to motion the duo forward, toward the front door.

"Doctor…"

"I've been very generous with my time, detectives. However, any more questions about," _careful_ , "about the topics you wish to discuss, any questions should be directed toward my attorney, Carrick Grey."

"Hey, wait. Wait! We didn't mean to get turned upside down here. Thank you doctor. We appreciate your time. You may have been the last person to see Miss Williams alive. I don't wanna piss you off. Look, we didn't ask you to come down to the station, you're not a person of interest." Wheeler looked like he wanted to add yet, Christian wasn't stupid. "We have some questions, and maybe you can steer us in the right direction. The police department is concerned that… To be honest, Roberts and Williams look so much alike, and the lack of suspects, is unnerving. We want to get ahead of this before…"

"It's not complicated, we don't want anymore victims doctor. And you KNEW both women. Is it difficult to understand why we want to ask you questions?"

"What more can I tell you, officers? I really want to help. It's true I knew these women."

They discussed a few more points of interest, and then Ana…. _Ana_ reappeared, dressed… _in my fucking clothes._ A crisp white button down and his grey boxer briefs, without a bra. She smiled and waved meekly, sliding past them back into the kitchen. _What the hell is she doing? She locked me out last night, sacrificing her precious dog._

She coyly offered the detectives more cappuccinos. _She's up to something._

"Do you think it's possible Dr. Grey, that Miss Williams was also involved in the S&M?"

 _Shit shit shit. Ana's hearing this too._ "Also?"

"Yea, yes. Dr Roberts had a thing for kinky sex. Apparently, she was in a relationship with a dog breeder over in Newcastle. Don't make any bitch jokes right now, okay?" That got Ana's attention, as she slammed the cabinets behind them. "She wasn't shy about it. Her parents knew, they were the party that informed us."

 _I never met them._ Susannah continued to surprise him.

"So, are you saying you did know Dr. Roberts was into S&M? She had a boyfriend she did those things with?"

 _BDSM_ , Christian thought. "No… I didn't know she had a boyfriend."

Christian glanced twice at Ana as he caught her eyes go big for a fraction of a second. Any normal person might have missed it, but he made a living noticing tiny eye movements. In the limited time he'd spent with her, he knew many of her reactions and tells. _Damn, Susannah did tell Ana about my… habits. She knows something. She could say something right now, but she's holding back._ He only half-heard what the men were saying, instead focused on Ana's demeanor and movements. _What does she know? What is she hiding?_

"How did you end up paying for Dr. Roberts' medical school? It's common knowledge in her class, but her parents had no idea."

"She asked for my help, and I gave it to her. I am not very good at saying no." Ana spit giggled at that. "Something funny, Ana?"

"You are very good at saying no, Dr. Grey." He bit his lip, she's a spitfire.

"You two finished?" Miller piped in. "Anyway, we connected Dr. Roberts and Miss Williams through a series of emails we found on Dr. Roberts laptop." _Fuck, they talked to each other._

"Were you tailing Leila?" Fucking idiots, she died under police surveillance.

"No, we we had plans to interview her." The detectives looked at each other, and Wheeler nodded to Miller. "Well, go ahead, might as well get all our cards on the table."

"Mr. and Mrs. Roberts also said Susannah had once been involved with someone named the sandman. That ring any bells?"

 _The sandman? What the fuck. Goddamn did it ring any bells? More like the fucking Mormon tabernacle choir._ He looked into his kitchen for a glance at Ana. Of course he caught her red-handed, licking foam from her fingers. _Jesus christ, she provoked him._

"No. It doesn't ring any bells." Ana looked ready to cry. He shifted his stare to find the detective's eyes were boring in on him. _They think I'm the sandman. Maybe. Maybe my subs did call me the sandman._

"You know Alex, I think Miss Williams... _'The Sandman.'_ " He feigned searching… for what? _Calm cool collected Grey._ "Yea, Leila... there's an email. Here. It's about the sandman. His habits, his likes and dislikes. Preferences and shit. It's like she's selling a puppy." He laughed. "It's got a link to a youtube video of some fancy-ass wine opener. And a coffee maker. You ever make the coffee Dr. Grey? Here look at this." Christian took the iPad from the detective and the video played. _They are fucking kidding me_. He was furious.

"I know how to make coffee. And I don't own a corkscrew like one that." Christian passed the iPad back. "I do have a coffee maker." He imagined Ana at his Miele unit, in her tiny lace tank—the one she slept in over those five magical nights—the one he was sure she was unaware revealed the tops of her perky tits and soft belly while she slept. In his mind, instead of her own chaste pajama bottoms, her tight ass modeled the racy AP panties he preferred so much, and this, this vision, made him uneasy. He closed his eyes and she was back in her PT uniform—turtleneck and blue scrubs. _Nope, doesn't matter._ His body had the same reaction. Interesting. Maybe it's because he knew her nipples were currently rubbing the inside of his own shirt not twenty feet away.

Detective Wheeler was talking again. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Your coffeemaker. We met her." Wheeler smirked. _Perverts._

 _Perverts? Really Grey?_

"Hey, it was a joke. Calm down, You look like you're gonna lose it doctor."

"That is pretty… it's highly unusual, right?" Asked Miller.

"What officers?" Were they still talking about Ana's coffee making?

"You must admit, it's highly unusual Dr. Grey for girlfriends and exes to share information about you, no?"

"I don't believe those women were sharing information about me, detective."

"No. No, but come on. Don't you think it's odd to discuss your ex with his new piece of ass? And nickname him?"

Christian regarded the detective and his intrusive questions. He laughed. "Yes. That is unusual. Are we done here, detectives? I have a meeting that's begun without me." He held up his phone.

* * *

 **Thank you for your encouragement and support. I owe so much to the women of Facebook. You can find me there, with my FSOG Sisterhood and FSoG Fanfic Obsessed.**

 **A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review. xx**


	4. Chapter 4 According To Ana

_Yay, you're back :) I love this chapter, but bear with me please. It's packed, lol. Forgive me if days occasionally pass slowly. There are a lot of pieces to get in place for the suspense to work. Christian and Ana are equally complicated. Thank you for reading and reviewing. It means so much to me that you share your time. xx KC_

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 4 - According to Ana**

He left his hands pressed into the door long after the detectives left. Long after the latch caught. Long after the news reached Christian that Leila was dead. He sunk down half bent over. God poor Leila. _All this death. Christ, Grey. You're a fucking monster..._

"What are you thinking?" Ana asked behind him. She stepped out from under the shadow of the foyer soffit. He turned his head and his eyes trained on her braless chest, then slowly rose up to her pretty face, where she massaged her plump lip between her teeth. She flushed from his quiet appraisal. She's aroused? By the interrogation?

"Are you aroused Ana—"

The sound of knocking surprised them, the little moment lost. He motioned for Ana to stand behind him, then stuck his head out the door, to peer down the darkened hall. The cops were back. Hovering. He motioned for them to re-enter.

"Sorry doctor," Detective Miller began, "I got all caught up in thinking about these two dead women. How they were sharing the same lover," he chuckled and at least had the decency to appear contrite, like he knew his little act wasn't fooling anyone. "We've taken enough of your time. I know you have somewhere to be?" He checked his watch for good measure.

"That's right, I have a board meeting." Well, had.

The detective fingered through his iPad. Everyone stood in the hallway waiting under the oppressive sadness and disruption of dead bodies and countless unanswered questions. The sound-proof windows couldn't keep out the days' dull wash as it lingered nearby. It flooded in around them as the seriousness of the crimes against his women sunk in for Christian. The quiet, numbing silence of Christian's home was destroyed with a simple question.

"Do you know Crystal Devine? Crystal with a K" _Yes I do. Christ. Fuck Ana looked upset. Lie now. This is the time to lie. No you do not know her._

"Yes, I do." Only his lips moved, he was stone still. _Not Krystal._

Ana squinted at him. He squinted back. _What's that noise about? She needs a goddamn blindfold._

"How do you know her?" _Is he fucking serious? Like I'm going to just spit that out. Don't go there._

"Is this going somewhere, officer? Why do you care if I know Krystal Devine?" He knew she was safe. She wasn't going anywhere.

"From what we can gather, Krystal and our victims were friends. She was in regular contact with Ms. Williams, and then as of two months ago, nothing." Christian looked at Ana as her eyes slowly rolled to the ceiling and her lids slid slut. She winced as though she was trying to avoid an unpleasantness. _Fuck me, she is full of surprises._

Where were they going with this anyway? Christian felt what little patience he'd wrapped around his fury begin to fray out. "Are you saying Ms. Devine has been missing for two months? Or that there is no record she and Ms. Williams spoke for two months?"

"You make a good point doctor." Miller let a fake smile drift between them. "But no. She's been missing for two months. Did you know this?"

"No officer I did not. What the fuck does this have to do with Susannah or Leila?" _As if you don't know, asshole. First the Sandman, now Krystal, this is a fucking clusterfuck._ Ana moved to his side and slipped her fingers through his, pulling his arm into her body.

"Dr. Grey, her name was on a recent email to Dr. Roberts. Nothing significant."

Christian rubbed his eyes with his free hand and shook out his hair. He wanted to escape these dreadful truths, but he was bound to the innocent woman on his hip. He rubbed her palm with his thumb— _thank you Ana._

"Earlier this morning, we searched Ms. Williams' apartment, looking for signs of a struggle. There were none. This has been some night. Anyway. This Krystal Devine left Leila a voicemail. In fact, yea, Krystal's was the only voicemail Leila has saved, and it's two months old."

 _Fucking Christ, Krystal send me Leila? To take care of me? Fucking fuck._ Ana's hand pulsed. "And her contact information was in Leila's phone."

"When was the last time you spoke with her? And what did you discuss, Christian?" Wheeler was done with formalities? Of course, two dead women another missing, first names from here on.

 _Fuck this shit, I'm done._ He moved to the door and pulled the knob back forcefully, alerting the dog, who started barking at the men in coats. "You just said Krystal's been missing for two months, so I must not have spoken with her for, ah at least… um, _two months_ , or she wouldn't be missing, would she?" No one made any effort to move off his point. "Answer my goddamn question. What the fuck does this have to do with Susannah or Leila being dead?" He towered over Wheeler.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that, doctor. Thank you for your time this morning. We'll be in touch. Have a good day." He waived his iPad in Christian's general direction and attempted to see himself out.

Ana brushed herself forward and stood between the detectives and Christian. "Officers, since you are linking the women together and now this…other person. Are you going to assign," she pointed behind her, "Dr. Grey any protection?"

The cops looked between themselves. Miller asked, "What's your name again, sweetheart? Did you know any of these women? You look like them."

"Anastasia Steele." She took a step back and pressed herself into Christian, his hands moved to her shoulders.

"No, Anastasia Steele, we are not assigning any security to Dr. Grey at this time." At least none they'll admit to, Christian thought to himself. "There's not sufficient reason to believe his safety has been compromised. There's no imminent threat or danger."

"Why don't you think Christian is in danger? Two of his— _friends_ are dead, and you just said a third is missing."

"You may want to talk to your boyfriend about that, Miss. We haven't even established what type of relation-ship he had with the girls." He stared at Sophie, whose noisy yelping made it difficult to hear. "What do you want me to say? We're not worried about Dr. Grey. Okay?"

Detective Wheeler nodded. "We'll be in touch. Thank you for your time. Good bye."

With the detectives gone, Sophie quieted down. For the second time, Christian latched and locked the front door. He and Ana turned to each other and exchanged a brief nodding acceptance? Possibly that's what it was. Christian could only imagine what she was thinking. His private life was bare, his dead submissives spoke volumes to her from the evidence or innuendo laid out by the Seattle Police Department. And yet, here she was pulling on his hands, to follow her.

"That was intense. But they're gone now. Finally. What are you thinking?" She repeated.

She was lovely. "What am I thinking?" _Angel, I can't tell you what I'm thinking. I have no idea where I was Tuesday night when Susannah was meeting her end. And Leila, god Leila._ "Why are you still here?" He asked.

She looked hurt. "Well...I can go."

"No, it's..." Why are you here? She'd summarily dismissed him just hours earlier.

"You looked like you could use a friend. Some moral support." He did need a friend. Elliot... his text.

She turned away and walked toward the sofas, whispering back over her shoulder, "Your secrets are safe."

"What secrets? I didn't tell them anything." That sounded bad. "There was nothing to tell."

"Oh. Um I didn't mean to imply anything."

Christian sat first, exhaling as he sank into the deep cushions. Ana promptly sat beside him, facing him, and laid herself across his pajama clad lap—no pillow this morning—propped herself up by her elbow, chin in her hand. She seemed to hover over his middle, maybe a foot from his face.

"Hi" slowly she smiled, a mischievous smirk, her eye brows raised. Had she not witnessed the chaotic exchange that concluded only moments ago? She appeared completely unconcerned over the two police detectives. They could have been delivering milk, for all she cared.

While they shared a simple unspoken communication, Sophie took her time inspecting each room on the first floor. She made a tiny huff as she took to the stairs to secure the rest of his apartment. The entire time, Ana and Christian hardly realized they'd been content to stare at one another. Finally, after a stop at her water bowl (Christian had christened a Rosenthal salad bowl as Sophie's the night before), the little mutt joined them on the sofa, her head perched on Ana's exposed ankle.

"You're wearing my dirty shirt." He pulled on the collar tab.

She rolled her shoulder and stopped herself from speaking, then pursed her lips. "Thanks, it was in a ball on the floor. I thought you left it out for me." Her voice was so sweet.

He brushed her brown bangs from her forehead and slipped his fingers between her cheek and her hand there, cupping her face. All the while, the rain pelted his large windows. They were a fitting barrier, trapping the quiet stillness that hung around the apartment. He stared harder at Ana. And sighed.

Her blue eyes and sweet countenance had replaced every anxious feeling he'd just released. The events of last night and this morning whipped through his mind like a flutter of damning headlines.

There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask her. Why was she crying? Who was the source of her fuck hard comment? Why did she lie for him? Did she know Krystal too? Why show up today after he'd cast her off? Where was she last night? And a thousand more. A thousand reasons to be anywhere else, to rise up and ask this angel to leave. He could think of only one reason to remain. One. Her. Ana. Where should he begin?

"Why did you lie to the cops? For me."

"Why didn't you correct me?"

"I don't know." He'd lost his voice not for the first time, and it came out a whisper. He didn't know. Maybe he wished it'd been true. That she had been with him all night. Maybe, he—

She was pushing back into his palm as it moved over her cheek in a measured rhythm. Her eyes closed. His other hand traced up and toyed with the edge of her bottoms, his own briefs, and then slid slowly beneath where he squeezed her hip. Her skin feels flawless, he thought to himself. It was so different…

"What are you thinking?" She asked. He wanted her. He wanted everything with her. The tiny bits she shared with him. So many questions.

Ana vexed him as no one ever had. She appeared open and giving as he'd never found before. But she harbored deep secrets and shared so little. She was self-contained in a way that no one he knew could rival. He had many thoughts. Her crying last night, for example, was out of character. It was entirely possible, if he let his mind wander, that she'd been upset because she knew she was about to kill Leila. _Christ Grey you've lost your mind._

"Ana…"

"Christian?"

"Ana, why were you crying?"

"What?"

"Why were you crying? Last night, when I found Sophie in the hallway."

""Um, I don't feel like talking about it. Listen, Christian—" He squeezed her thigh.

"Don't. Don't say my name again. Unless you want to see an unpleasant side of me. Tell me. Answer the f— the question. Why were you so upset and drinking no less?" She appeared struck by his shift. "What the fuck was going on? What did I walk in on?" He tilted his head in considerate regard.

She pointed her chin to the ceiling and muttered something. Then looked him in the eye. "Christian, I don't want to talk about it."

"I do." The sounds and feel of his hand tracing her leg from hip to toe stole his attention. "Ahem, I do want to talk about it."

"You? Want to talk about something? You can't always get what you want."

"Are you being clever?"

"Honestly, I'm trying to get you to shut up. But that's why I was crying."

"You talk in riddles sometimes. It's infuriating. Frustrating to no end." And I have no relief, no methods for making her tell me a damn thing.

"Welcome to the club buster." She wiggled playfully (weak ass)

"So what you're saying is that you want something and you can't have it?" _Say yes. Please say yes._ He surprised himself with the vulnerable appeal.

"Yes. I want something, and I can't have it. Let's just leave it at that."

"Is that something… me?" She tensed at that and quickly stood up, sending Sophie to plop on the floor.

"Oh my god! You are full of yourself." She adjusted her shirt and pulled on the legs of her briefs, Christian focused on the space where her shirt tails parted, the apex of her thighs, and her small hands there. She caught him. "Boy, you are so arrogant. That I'm the sad physical therapist pining for the big bad doctor with the hot girlfriends. I bet that's what you think. But no, you are not why I was crying." His scowl stopped her affect. She looked down and swayed a little. _They were never my girlfriends._

"Oh. Okay." What do you say to that? He approached her. "You said I was beautiful."

She pushed back at his shoulder. "Would you stop? I'm not saying any more. Are you going to the hospital or what?" What just happened? Her little tantrum and the resulting pout were just the right amount—

"Yes, I am. Eventually. I'm going to shower, call my dad as you said." Their were back to their neighborly postures.

"What time is it?" Ana twisted around him to glance at the wall clock. "Oh gosh, it's almost 10:30." She turned back to face him and… waited.

Christian was at a loss. He wanted her to submit. He wanted to order her to communicate, to talk? _The fucking irony of that._ At the same time, he wanted to kiss her senseless. He wanted to rip open her shirt and lift her into his arms, instead he pictured her sinking to the floor in front of him, her pink tongue darting out, as she tugged down his pants. When her eyes sought permission to fellate him, he'd lean down and grab her under her arms, lifting her into his body, where he'd urge her to envelope him, limbs wrapping tightly around him. Yes, her body tight in his arms was more risqué than any scene he could conjure. He'd carry her down the hall to his bedroom, as far away from the submissive's room and his den of toys as he could. And he'd make love to her. He'd give her anything she ever wanted but couldn't have. He'd take away her pain. He'd give her the beautiful back, _"You're so beautiful it hurts," she'd said._

These ridiculous thoughts left him angry and morose. He moved away. "I have to go. Elliot texted. The Doctors Without Borders meeting has already begun, I have some consults to review, and—" He hesitated. Did he have slides to prepare? She turned to go.

"And what?" She ran her fingers through her hair, scalp to tip, finally freeing her long wet tresses from the inside of her collar, the resulting slap to her soaked shirt punctuated the silence, and made him groan. She heard him, of course she heard him, and turned to look over her shoulder where he'd diverted his eyes. "What?"

After a beat… "nothing."

"Elliot, he's your brother? The psychiatrist?" Her smile said I remember details about your life.

"Yes." He nodded with his own smile, and took the opportunity to close the last two buttons of her shirt. "Come on. Off you go." They walked to the front door.

"You're okay Christian? You're gonna be all right? I mean—" Susannah, Leila, Krystal. Their unspoken names hung between them.

"Yes, I need. I need to go into the hospital." I need a do over. And a reset button. A goddamn brain transplant and some mercy. Suddenly, the thought of her leaving, only to return to her apartment was unsettling. Narcotics would work.

She nodded. "Okay. I mean you're not gonna fall apart on me are you? Like have a panic attack?"

He smiled, she cares. "No. No panic attack. I need to go to a meeting. Some of these meetings can induce panic."

"Ha ha, you're funny. Not. Good bye doctor, have a good day."

He closed the door on her. And it felt much too complete. A nice bow served up. His girls were dead and the cops came calling. Ana wisped in to save him, briefly for an hour and poof she was gone. It didn't feel real. None of it did. The sad truth: He was being held accountable for the difficult choices he'd forced on himself.

Elliot would have a field day. Had he told Elliot about Ana? He hadn't. Elliot would've had a memorable response. That reminded him. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Krystal Devine, leaving her a brief message. Next, he texted her.

 _I left you a voicemail with a new contact number. Please memorize it and delete the message —C_

He'd have to tell Elliot what he'd done.

Looking at his suede sectional, he focused on the impressions where he and Ana had just been lying, but now it was empty. The piano pulled him, a normal outlet when he needed to clear his head. All this death. All these women.

He sulked back down toward his room. Hard to believe she didn't stear clear of him the moment she saw the cops. What did he make of that? She was compassionate.

What to make of his reaction to seeing Ana's clothing on the floor in his bedroom, immediately picturing her walking naked into his bath. She would have stood at the shower, surmising how to get the hot and cold to run. Did she choose a towel first? Then he saw it: Evidence that Anastasia Steele, _Ana to her friends,_ had been in his shower. Water droplets on the glass door, smeared soap, her swiveling body lathering and rinsing. He felt it, the delicate humidity of a woman bathing. His body reacted with a wave of desire that reached the pads of his fingers and toes. She had ignited all of his senses and he was powerless.

Except, she was gone. He stood in front of the shower door, not realizing he'd collected her clothes on his way across the room. He set the faucet running and moved to the vanity, sniffing her clothes briefly—it felt like a trespass—before setting them neatly by his sink.

The first time a woman had been in his room and he was not witness. He'd pictured her here, in his private spaces, enough to give her her own goddamn drawer. "Fucking life." _Pity Grey, is another word for her behavior. Kindness and human decency are two more._

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. _She thinks I'm beautiful? How depressing._ He could see the marks that wound around his torso from five feet away. He didn't need the mirror, he had them memorized. Reflexively, his stomach tensed to minimize them. He could smell them. Faint baby oil at first, then the metallic smoke. He could taste the acrid bitterness, like choking on pennies. The images changed into Leila, her rigored and bloated form, not quite floating in the shallow soldiers' memorial. He shook it off. It was too long ago. It was too near. He spun away from his reflection, tossing his clothes on top of Ana's abandoned pajamas, and entered the shower.

Ana would want to know about it. Her "let's be candid" double standard notwithstanding, he couldn't hide from her, even if she chose evasion over explanation when asked to discuss herself. He'd demanded complete silence for so long (possibly to stifle his own damaged voice). He'd reveled in the pace of that solitude, so that now, his real disdain to her reticence—to "share"—surprised him. Who was he to demand her story? But he knew she would want his.

He showered quickly, debating his dilemma. If he even entertained the thought of being with her, where could it lead? He simply didn't know _how_ they could have a physical relationship. She was the essence of any physicality he sought out. The thought of her touch, the thought of her nearness. It was heady. He didn't have time to address his erection. Maybe she could watch. Like that would be her preference. _Or his._ He laughed at his situation, and welcomed his shift in mood.

He finished cleaning up, and dressed in a clean shirt identical to the own Ana'd worn. He chuffed himself for delighting in the small shared intimacy.

With an incredible sense of timing, Sophie wandered back into his room as he cinched his belt. He let a little smile escape at her puppy yawn. She'd seen a lot over the past day. How this day was going to spin out, he didn't know. But now he had to return Sophie, who Ana seems to forget all the time. It's a wonder that dog ever helped her dad. She's certainly she's a stranger to Ana.

After dressing, he found his phone. He exhaled, remembering Ana's nose planted into his arm. He unblocked her and sent a text.

 _Mind if I bring Sophie over? I'm headed out —C_

 _Who is this? ;) —A_

 _A potential dog napper miss smart mouth —C_

 _I'll be right over to get her .—A_

He found his wallet and keys, and his gloves, and hastily decided it was time to take the stupid tie off Sophie. She'd already drooled and nibbled until it appeared to be a different object altogether.

Ana didn't even get the second knock out before Christian had her inside, his hands moving to his chin, rubbing the stubble he'd forgotten to shave off. He had to keep his hands busy around her.

He nodded, noting she'd changed clothes. She wore a faded USMA hooded sweatshirt, probably her father's and her hair was dry. Without makeup, she looked like the world's most desirable coed on her way to the laundromat.

Where had she discarded his shirt? Was it hanging in her closet, among her own things? Or had she wadded it into a ball and tossed in the behind corner of her bathroom? And what of her early morning pajamas? The t-shirt and sweats he'd lifted from the floor outside his shower door, that were now nestled neatly below his own…

"Christian, I'm talking to you. Don't you think the meeting is over by now? You're still going in?"

He nodded again.

"Do you care if I go too? May I go with you? I can find something to do. I don't feel like being alone. And I think you probably want the company too."

"Oh, you think that?" _I want something Ana._ "You wanna go with me?"

"Sure. Yes, I don't have anywhere to be."

"Anastasia, I don't think that's a very good idea."

"I didn't ask you what you thought. And besides I just got you back. You don't want me to have to send Sophie on anymore missions." She's too sweet. He reached forward and zipped her hoodie more, finishing with the slightest touch to her chin. His toes curled at the contact and he clenched his ass to stave off his body's momentum to lunge into her.

"Ana, I don't want you to be in any danger. Please stay at Escala. Stay here, at my place—you and Sophie." _What the hell, I don't want her here all day._

"Danger? Looks to me like the hospital and Escala are the dangerous places. I can take care of myself." He noticed along with the bag on her shoulder, there was an umbrella in her hand and two bottled smoothies. "Besides, maybe you're the danger to me. You do know both of the victims."

"Ana, I'm not going to the hospital." He admitted.

"Oh? What are we doing?" _We… she called us we on a Saturday afternoon._

He half-turned away from her, looking toward his exit. _You can't run for it. She'll just follow._ "Ana, I was going to stop by Susannah's. Susannah's apartment." _To look for any evidence I knew her intimately._

"Dead Susannah?" Her face blanched the moment she'd said it.

"Yes, Dr. Roberts."

"Are you supposed to be in her apartment, Christian?" He gave her a big fat no face.

"I don't know how to explain it, or what else to tell you. I have to see for myself."

"See what exactly?"

"See what's in her home. What the police are thinking, what her parents know. I can't explain it more than that. It's something I owe her. Maybe." He looked into Ana's eyes for a rebuke, or a shameful frown. But none came. She tilted her head a couple times, weighing what? She walked past him into the apartment, setting her things on the kitchen island. Sophie leapt into her arms when she bent over.

"It's so dark out today. Eerie." She moved back to the damn sofas, slipped out of her loafers and plopped down with Sophie. _What's she doing?_ "Maybe we could stay here. How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"I don't know." He sat down and joined her petting the dog, letting his hands mingle with hers.

"May I come with you?" she whispered. _No, she should have nothing to do with that life._

"Ana, I don't think it's a good idea. I prefer you to be safe. Here."

"What about you? What if you run into someone you don't want to see."

"The police are gone."

"I wasn't talking about the police. I was talking about the murderer. Last I heard he's still on the loose." _She's too much. Feeding me, talking care of me, the alibi. How much more proof do you need that she wants to be with you? Either that or she's mentally ill. Which is a possibility. Usually you have to tie women up, or threaten to murder them for them to spend any time with you._ Now though, the thought of not seeing Ana for even another hour was too much.

"Good point. I've got some thorazine darts and a tranquilizer gun in my car."

"How retro of you." She giggled.

"I love when you do that."

"What? Laugh at myself?" She shook her head, "Well, I'm game. I'd love to see her place." She paused at his surprise. "Who doesn't want to stalk a murder victim?"

"Jesus, Ana. I cared about this woman." Did he?

"Sorry, that was in poor taste. What? You don't think it'd be fun to go stalk."

"Yes." He did not just say that. "Look, I have to go to the hospital. I am trying to be honest with you. I am going to Susannah's house too. First." He spoke slowly to let it sink in what he was telling her. In turn, she also took her time in replying.

"I want to go with you. I don't think you should go to Susannah's and I definitely don't think you should go alone. What if the police find you there? What will they think?"

All the while Ana talked. She talked about the dark weather, the detectives and their odd questions and Christ, he did not walk to talk about any of it. Instead, preferring to imagine that they were living together. That they were anywhere but in his apartment recalling the interrogation, because that's what it was, even if no one was willing to call it that. He had been interrogated by the Seattle Police Department for the death of two young women with surprisingly similar features.

"Ana, what are we doing?"

"We're having a heart to heart." He winced at her naive comment. _I wonder what makes her scream? How would she come undone?_

"No. That's… that's not what I meant. I mean why are we sitting here… Talking?" She just looked at him. "And while we're on the subject. My heart is not in this. I mean, this is an obligation for me. I owe it to her.

"What you heard this morning about me? It's all true. I lead a dark private life, and sitting here talking to you about it, it's unnerving to say the least. But don't get your hopes up that this is some heartfelt mission I'm on.

"I'm certain the police suspect the worst of me. And you'd do well to take that into consideration. My heart… it's not a big influence on my behavior."

Her stare had only deepened as he spoke. Her face turned into more of one that scrutinized his features, not so much listening, as taking him in. Her bottom lip was lost somewhere under her teeth, and she appeared to almost sulk. She looked around the room, as though unmoored and searching for a lifeline. What had he said?

"Okay, okay, Christian. You win. I've been warned. What are you saying exactly?" Ana whispered, seemingly to hide some emotion that percolated below the surface.

"My heart is not part of most equations. It's not an organ I use, I don't know if it still exists." Christian squeezed her knee, to comfort his distancing message. There, he'd said it.

"It's there." She got up from her seat next to him on the sofa and crossed the carpet to her purse. She fished around and walked back rolling a small black stick between her fingers. On her way back, she turned out all but one of the lights, and dimmed it way down.

The familiar knotting in his stomach resurfaced as she approached him. "Assume the position." _What?_ "Like you're meditating." She steadied herself on his shoulders and sat down on his crossed legs, straddling his hips, scooching til she was comfortable. She held up a pencil. "Lip liner. This won't hurt. I promise." She bit the cap off and kept talking. "Open your shirt. What's that look for?" She sagged. "Please? Unbutton your shirt."

"Ana." He couldn't look at her, her casual beauty was suffocating him where they sat. No, that wasn't it. It wasn't her gorgeous body perched on his. It was the intimacy she demanded, how much she was taking.

"You hush. Here hold this." She put the cap in his shirt pocket and tapped in, then held the stick up to her mouth, rolling it between her lips. "This will," she pressed her lips together. "This will make the cream body temperature." _What the fuck?_ Was she going to kiss him?

"Can you unbutton your shirt?" His face deadpanned. She returned the look. Her lips were getting rosy over the pencil tube. "Come. On. I've seen you in the gym. You have awesome pecs and nipples. You look Gucci. So what?… Now open that shirt doctor. Pretty please. I have _serious_ work to do here. I have a heartless patient in need of _serious_ medical attention."

"I look Gucci, Anastasia?" Christian relented, grinning like a loon.

He did as she asked, fighting the euphoria that at once gave him peace like the best narcotic—he wanted to attack her pretty mouth and press himself into her until they were simply one thing. At the same time, he sensed a tremendous unraveling, like death may come any moment in a violent burst, destroying the shuddering affection he felt in this moment, for another human being. _For Ana._ He'd grant her every wish.

Quickly, his shirt was open and he felt her silent gleeful wiggle, she mouthed _'damn,'_ then froze when she caught his eyes sizing her up like she was his last meal. "What?"

"Nothing," he said resigned. "It's… this is unusual, Ana. I hardly know…"

"And no talking. Actually, close your eyes. They're distracting me." He checked out for a moment when he realized what was happening. Her questions were distant now, "Did he care about tattoos? Did he have any? Don't answer that."

He found her hips and pressed his palms down around her thighs, cupping her sweet ass. Her little _"mmm"_ was just the distraction he needed to grant her purchase to his chest. "This won't hurt." He felt her pressing into his skin with that small liner. And everything. was. alright. "We could use some mood music now, right?" She was so close, he could feel her staccato breaths along his neck. The feathered touch of her liner faded into oblivion, a place he surely wanted to go himself. This intense exchange was beyond any experience he'd ever shared.

"Ana." It was a plea, to save him. From his forgettable past, his present, his future without her.

"Shhh. It's alright. I'm almost finished." He nipped her hair as it brushed across his mouth. "Hey buster, you're distracting me."

"That's the point, Miss Steele. May I open my eyes?"

"Done" she said quietly.

He opened his eyes to find her cute face flush in an embarrassing rose blush. He choked on his words.

"You, my friend, have a lovely red heart." She leaned back, but only for a moment, because he growled just then, startling her.

He really did growl as he pulled her to him, the closest he'd been to anyone in his fucked up life.

She arched away. "Hey, you'll mess it up. Look."

He looked down to the puffy red heart she'd drawn in the middle of his chest. A high whine escaped him and his eyes stung. "No!" _This is not real, this is not my life. I whip women for less shit that this._

"What is it? It's just makeup goofy. It'll come off." He mumbled something. "What's that?"

"According to Ana. I have a heart according to Ana." He frowned. _What does she want? She said it, it's just makeup._

"See, now you're just pissing me off." She unfolded her legs and stood. "Lie down Grey. Now." Was she about to cry? "Now dammit!" She shook her head. "Why can't you just…" He shifted his shoulders and laid back.

"This may hurt doctor. But you've left me no choice." She tapped at his jeans, and then knelt between his legs when he'd made room. "I demand silence and closed eyes. Now. Well, it'll probably tickle, but… you know what? To quote you, fuck it." She bit her tongue and began drawing again. It did tickle. "Close those grey eyes. I'm doing what I want." He didn't dare move a muscle, no matter the tortured feelings and electricity shooting through him. "And you're gonna let me. " His mouth was too dry and no involuntary responses were forthcoming, so he forced a nod. One foot rested on the floor, his only anchor in this sea of… whatever the fuck it was. The sea of her.

Ana exhaled and he felt her, what? Wiping her face? "Okay, you can sit up." She stood again and looked at him with crossed arms and a happy smile. He imagined a ball gag over that pretty face, and winced at his ill-timed libido. He loved her mouth. He cleared his mind as he moved his shirt edges back, and looked down to see letters in his skin below the red heart. Upside down, she'd written: ACCORDING TO ANA

His heart seized. _I am hers. I fucking love this woman._

Then his eyes caught the red shape of another tattoo down his abdomen. He shifted to see it. It was an upside down question mark at his happy trail, with a smiley face.

He gave her a knowing smirk. She nodded.

"Well, don't look at me?" She tried to play innocent. "I mean, maybe the liner had a mind of it's own. I can't explain it. Your body's like some weird living ouija board." She motioned around his torso, probably to distract him from her blush.

"Come back here." He pulled her back onto his lap, where she settled shyly, he sensed. "You're amazing."

"You're a mystery."

"No. I'm not." He held her glassy blue gaze, and sighed in contentment, realizing the world could end, and as long as he could remember the past five minutes, as long as he could remember the look they shared in this finite moment, simmering with infinite promise. . . . He frowned at the fallacy. He pressed her head into his neck and held her there. "I'm forsaken."

"Not to me, you're not." She mouthed into his skin.

"Give it time, Ana. Give it time.

* * *

 **Thank you for taking the time to read and review.**


	5. Chapter 5 His Racing Heart

_Thank you so much for all of your wonderful feedback and support. This is a short chapter. I didn't want to break up the next part and it's long. So this is a bridge to that, a necessary development. Please enjoy. xx KC_

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 5 -** **His Racing Heart**

Their phones vibrated simultaneously on the kitchen island. "I better get that," she said in one syllable. As quickly as she'd demanded this moment on the couch, and marked his flawed torso with her name, it was gone.

Christian sat still a second longer, watching her jean clad ass saunter over to the phone and her things in his place.

It thrilled him. He was pleased that she wanted him. How else to interpret her shy defense of the smiley face and question mark she'd drawn? And yet, he gritted his teeth at his permissive behavior. _Pussy. She sat on your lap and tattooed your ass while you lay silent underneath her._ Get over it, he thought to himself. He knew he'd replay that scene in his head a thousand times. Her breath, her hair, her whole fucking point, were genuine and loving. At one point, he thought she was going to kiss him. He wiped his face, rubbing his fingers across his willing lips, and let it all wash over, fighting off a grin. He'd be a fool to focus on the role playing dynamics.

He stood and began buttoning up his shirt. The real problem. The real thought hanging him up was how to sustain this level of intimacy and commitment. To _invest_ in Ana. His self-imposed distance was his life jacket. His safe zone… whatever, but when he gave her space in his lap, he could no longer deny her with any distance. He ached to watch her sink down, hoover over him. He wanted her to hold him, every inch of him, everywhere.

As he finished tucking his shirt in, he adjusted his almost rigid dick down his right leg. That plain Army sweatshirt of hers was fucking pointless, with his hand on his dick, her body in front of him. He was ready to go. What rules existed to punish a sub for simply standing? That's some fucked up shit. Leila was always inventing ways to get punished, she had a running list mounted inside her vanity drawers in her room. In the submissive's room. It wasn't Leila's.

And like that, the actual day in front of him, his actual life, came into focus again.

It was in stark contrast to imagining Ana nude, head to toe, bent over the birthday tub in the upstairs bath, her hands and mouth restrained with that damn grey sweatshirt, her panties still gathered around one ankle, because he couldn't fucking stop himself from plowing into her the moment he sprung free. Again, he found himself hallucinating a strictly sexual relationship with her. _Impossible._ He reached down behind her to twist her panties back up around the top of her leg to create a little friction with the lace. His face moved between her thighs to inhale her feminine musk, but she squeezed her body shut, and winced to move away. "Christian."

"Christian, you ready to go?" She studied him. "You look all hot and bothered." _Fuck!_

"You're hot. And that bothers me." _I can play this game too, Ana._ "It bothers me immensely."

"Hmm. _'Immensely,'_ says the man with no heart."

There weren't enough muscles in his mouth to exercise the restraint he needed in that moment, and he felt his face contort so he turned his neck with a crack of his jaw. "Are we finally leaving?"

"Are you serious? We've been waiting on you." She looked at Sophie, then back down to her phone, where she typed furiously, her mouth and face reflecting whatever annoying message she was delivering.

"No, the dog can't go with us."

Ana didn't look up. "Okay, give me a minute. I'm almost done." Give her time? I'm a fucking doctor, I need to get the fuck out of here, now. Who the fuck is she talking to, biting that damn lip, rubbing off all pink shit between her lips, coloring my fucking skin?

"Fuck this shit. I've got to go."

She scurried along behind him, he imagined her arms were full of all that thoughtful shit she was carting. _Get to Susannah's, find what you need and get to the hospital, safety._ He shook his head.

"I saw that." She huffed behind him, "I had some messages to answer okay? I'm hurrying." He kept moving. "Hey, how's your foot? You don't really look like you're limping."

"I'm fine." Shit the blood in the hall from where he'd cut his foot last night. Running, running to save Ana. _Sweet Jesus. The cops saw that._ He wondered if Leila's death had been bloody and violent, marginally disgusted. Wheeler and Morgan would have made something of the blood trail down the hallway.

He turned after they'd stepped out into the hall, double checking that his apartment was secure, and saw that the blood was gone.

"I cleaned it up. The blood I mean." She was smiling again, then frowned. "That's weird. The cops must have turned the hall lights off." He stared at her. Her phone went off again. "Sorry, I have to deal with this." Her fingers moved quickly while she kept talking. "So you cut yourself on a wine glass, that's your story doctor?" She mocked the cops from earlier. Then dipped her head back to her text messages.

He shook his head again, a new condition he noted that only presented when this woman was around. Who was he denying? Was he really trying to shake her off? _There's a cartoon heart on your chest, Grey. You're fucked._

* * *

Ana pushed the elevator's call button with her hip, and she caught his smirk.

"Thank you for letting me come on your secret investigation Dr. Grey." She faked looking around, like she was revealing a big secret. "I just wanna be with you."

 _I want to be with you._ They waited in silence, each likely rolling around the many directions her admission spun out. She wanted to be with him because... Was she easing his discomfort from the police interrogation earlier? Did she want to confirm her own suspicions about his possibly nefarious late night activities? Was she harboring her own secrets she feared he'd uncover? Or did she simply want to "be" with him, the way he wanted to be with her. His chest ached, his heartbeat out a simple answer to each question.

He knew. Goddamn, he knew. The tightening in her shoulders, the blush that crept up her pale neck, the corners of her mouth following, morphing into a gorgeous grin. She wanted him.

He stared again. That foreign ache slid up his own chest, into his jaw, and he bit down to release its paralyzing effect. No.

In that moment he pictured shoving his thumb into the side of her sweet mouth and pulling down as hard as he could, splitting her face open, to obliterate the inviting joy she was offering.

He looked away when he realized he'd been caught scowling.

They stepped into the elevator and began their descent.

"Can't a girl fantasize a bit, to get back what we had?" _What we had? What was she talking about? How he'd…_

His face fell. "Ana..." she stepped away.

"What? I know you liked having me with you."

"That I do, Miss Steele. That is true. But…" _It's too intense, having you with me._ At moments he felt in control and then that control evaporated. No, it combusted.

He eased against the elevator wall. Beyond the loss of that control, was the loss of time. The when. When would he feel helpless around her? When would the feeling subside? How long would Ana stick around? How long could he sustain this… this carefully crafted facade? There was no barometer for that pressure, aside from his escalating thoughts and racing heart. He heard her exhale and imagined her tiny breath consuming him.

He looked to her, with a plea in mind. _Quit being._ His eyes caught on the round freckle over her left eyebrow, a tiny mole really, with a minuscule elevation. He swore it changed tones, depending on her blush. He imagined barely brushing his ring finger across it, before kissing it softly. To call it a beauty mark was beside the point. It was a lure, to the enchantments her sudden appearance in his life had conjured. Pressing her face against his, her lips on his neck, making love. Who the fuck was he to think such things about her?

She caught him then. She was scrutinizing his scrutiny. "You're a beautiful woman, Ana." _You can drive yourself to the hospital._

They stepped into the crisp cool air of the parking garage. A welcome relief to the tight box of the elevator. Whatever warm blanket Ana was weaving around him in his apartment and then the confined space, dissipated in the spare air of the garage. He breathed in as deeply as he could, stopping to let her move ahead of him. She was a walking breathing torture device, intent on wrestling a confession out of him. His deep breath turned into several. Christian leaned against the wall there. It was all too intense. He put his hand to his chest to soothe the throbbing underneath and moved his thumb across the spot she'd marked. He needed…

Maybe Ana had simply been nice, as he'd been to her, when she couldn't sleep. _She hasn't mentioned that I unceremoniously dumped her back in her apartment last week._ Even staring at this lovely breath of a woman, right now, he had a mixture of lust, love, fear, repulsion. She'll find out about Leila. How he'd bruised her gorgeous body, even though she'd asked for it. He'd been brutal that night. The same day. The same fucking day, he'd hovered over Ana's sleeping form, tenderly kissed her, then licked her face over his whispered affection. _I love you._

"Is your car here Ana?" _Separation_. He needed separation.

"Yes, it's over there. Why? You want me to drive now?" She groaned and his own chest heaved. "I left my keys upstairs." She turned back and called the elevator, her slender hand lingering over the up arrow. _Sedation. Separation and sedation._

"No. It's okay. I thought we would… I thought you might want to drive yourself to the hospital."

"What are you talking about? I thought we were going to Susannah's together." He closed his eyes and waited for this, this foreign wave of… passion to pass. Every moment with her. Every part of her. She was a goddamn magnet. _Fucking torture._ He pressed his back into the wall and swallowed down his unmoored impulses. He saw Ana moving in slow motion. In a flurry of seduction, what the fuck Grey, she set her things down and floated back over to him.

"Christian, what is it?" He remained still. She shifted toward him and stroked his hand as he clenched it shut. "I wish I could get inside that beautiful head of yours."

 _Never_. "No you don't." It's not safe, for anyone. Her lips were moving.

"Christian." Nothing.

"Christian?" What could he say. She licked her lips on a smile. "Just kiss me already."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I don't want to kiss you, Ana. You're…" _too sweet_ , "you're..."

She cupped his hand in both of hers and brought it to her mouth. She marked his skin back and forth with her soft lips. He gripped her fingers tightly in response to the deep sinking sensation in his stomach.

Ana pulled back, "You're hurting me."

Furious, he grabbed her and punched her mouth with his own, groaning as he felt his lip bruise. "Sorry," he exhaled and paused to breath. Was he?

Her response was immediate, as she slapped her hands around his neck and forcefully found his mouth again.

An earthquake. An earthquake could render the steel and concrete around him to rubble, and he might not register the ruins. The shockwaves within him were a rapture.

* * *

His mouth over hers, their satisfaction intermingled. _Ana._ It was perfect.

The ding of the returning elevator reached him first. Though it was she who hesitated away, as his mouth stayed suctioned to her delicate face. It was the ruffled twisting of a neighbor's rain umbrella that broke the spell, and he released her lips with a soft wet sound.

It needn't have mattered, he told himself as he buried his hands to the bottoms of his pockets. He didn't need to touch her to confirm they'd really kissed. He could still taste her breath lingering in his back teeth. He tongued the roof of his mouth to calm himself. Maybe the arrival of the elevator had interrupted them, but more likely, he argued inside, he'd been ready to end their connection in that instant. She'd dared him. He ran his fingers through his hair, to secure his head from exploding. That was amazing, and terrifying.

His sudden movement forced Ana to react similarly and she pivoted back toward her belongings. "Which car is yours, doctor?" With some form of verbal articulation aiding him, he motioned to his sweet little R8. She rolled her eyes at his discomfort and they made their way to the vehicle. Someone was calling her again, because she put all her crap on top of the car and pulled her phone out, scanned the screen and gave an exasperated huff.

Her recently ravished lips moved as she typed, something he'd noticed on the first night they'd spent together on his sofas. _Shit, our first night and that awkward goodbye…_ Instinctively, his hand rose to his mouth as he remembered licking his fingers after he'd woken to find his hand securely gripped in the least appropriate place on her body. _Later asshole, get to Susannah's before the police._

"Ana," He hit the key fob unlocking the doors, and motioned for her to get in. He lingered over her hypnotizing appearance. A vision in grey fleece with her long casual freshly washed hair. She looked the same—simple and still beyond anything in his wildest imaginings—as she had the day he'd met her, head down, fingers madly in control over a massage patient. He couldn't exactly see her pretty face now, as had been the case four weeks ago.

' _You're staring, Dr. Grey.'_ It had slipped out her mouth and winded its away across the PT room to his ears then burrowed down into his brain and sat there, for almost a month. _She knew who I was._ How was that? He rubbed his lips together to recreate their incredible kiss from moments ago, and forced his torso against the driver's door to ease the ache he felt for her.

She looked up at him. "Sorry about that." God, she's gorgeous. "Riding together, right?" _Together._ He tried to hide his pleased pucker and nodded as she gathered her things off the hood. "Christian what is it? You look—shaken."

"I'm fine. I can't believe you sat through all those things they said. I'm…"

"You think I care?" She pulled the door open and dipped out of view, sliding herself into the bucket seat. She continued talking but he couldn't make it out. Her slamming door froze him for a moment.

The cool air around him combined with the noisy rain outside, did he need an umbrella? Another car door closed somewhere behind him, and he immediately sought visual confirmation of her, peering down through his window to see her snap her seat belt. _She's here. She's so fucking small, how can she appear so small in my Spyder?_ Finally, he slid himself inside, and started the motor. The car reeked of her and it'd been thirty seconds. Fucking great, this is even worse than the elevator.

He checked his mirrors and reset himself. What was he thinking? What were his objectives? _Ana is in my car, it's unnerving. I want her here._ How odd that she wanted to see his ex-sub's apartment. He was happy though, happy to have her with him. Why? Because she is intoxicating. He needed her, that's why. _Maybe she could be the next victim and I want to keep her safe. Christ Grey, maybe you're a suspect in two murder investigations and the next potential victim is in the car with you._

 _Keep her safe. She needs me._ That wasn't true. She didn't need him. He wanted her to need him. Craved her need. Ana was smiling at him again, that brilliant peaceful gaze. For how long? The motor's purr shifted lower, and the signal to buckle in contrived to say: Let's move doctor. Drive away from here, and never come back. Christian touched his hand on the black and chrome gear shift, as Ana laced her hand over his. The loud pulses in his molars did nothing to drown out his demons. _Leila is dead, Susannah is dead and you're entertaining fucking this sweet woman._

* * *

 ** _A/N Thank you for all your messages and reviews. It means so much to me. xx KC_**


	6. Chapter 6 I Can't Let You Go

_Thank you so much for all your support and your encouraging reviews. Again I apologize as this is my first attempt at suspense. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. It's got some meat on it. After this, we'll get to the hospital and meet more of our cast of characters, learn about Christian's bedside manor wink, and possibly run into another suspect or two. Love you guys, and all your support. If you have any questions, theories or advice, feel free to shoot me a message. xo KC_

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 6 - I Can't Let You Go**

Christian parked one street over from Susannah's apartment, a second floor loft in the Queen Anne district. The insistent rain hadn't let up, and neither he nor Ana were in a hurry to leave the warm confines of the car, to trudge around the block to the dead girl's home. If anything, the day had grown more dreary. A sticky wet pall hung everywhere, creating an almost fated atmosphere of gloom.

The tension from earlier, when the detectives had invaded his home, needled him with questions, had returned two fold. Christian's whole body was still recovering from the intense but brief kiss he and Ana had shared. He'd think about it's implications later, but he knew that his failed attempts to rid her from his life had been just that, attempts. He wanted to explore whatever flickering moments of peace he'd felt earlier this morning with her.

What Ana thought of those fleeting moments was another matter. Their vague conversations on the way over about nothing in particular—neither acknowledging nor denying the deep connection at least _he_ felt rubbing his lips against her soft small mouth—left them no closer or committed to anything.

Her demeanor had shifted and she grew very serious in the car. Her hand that held his as he drove had abandoned him at the first red light to check her phone again. And Christian chided himself over his concern for Ana's bottom lip. Each time he glanced at her pale pretty face, she was either chewing it whole, or rubbing its swollen membranes with her pink tongue. At least until she spoke, "The light's green doctor." He laughed at his rogue thoughts about that tongue, and pondered too long over what other parts of themselves might be swollen and tense.

He was encumbered with the knowledge that they were headed to an empty home without host or hostess. Christian's intent was clear, to deceive and manipulate the detective's narrative. How that would play out depended on what he found at Susannah's. He would remove his more 'ominous' presence from her life. Why he'd agreed to let Ana, his neighbor and erstwhile sleep companion come along? Wasn't it obvious? He looked over at her yet again, and smiled.

They'd briefly argued on the ride over. Ana suggested it'd make more sense, draw less attention, if they entered Susannah's home separately, which meant Ana would be apart from Christian, either alone in the car, or entering Susannah's without him. Both options caused a heavy, uncompromising response. "It's about your fucking safety Ana, not what you'd do if I left you alone." Then he'd had an idea, a solution.

As he finally pushed off the ignition, he shifted toward Ana and asked her to turn away from him, put her back to him. She complied, and he grabbed her long dark hair between his hands, pulling it out of her hoodie. For a second he pictured lifting Leila's braid to reveal a fresh tattoo marring the nape of her neck. He grumbled at the memory.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Ana shrugged and twisted around to stop him.

"I thought I'd—" He motioned to grab her hair again and she blocked him. "Pull your hair behind and cover it with your hood."

"I can do it, okay?" She looked out of sorts, but quickly collected her hair into a loose ponytail. "You don't want anyone to see me with you, do you?" She spoke into her armpit while she went about complying, and it was the cutest thing he'd seen. _Cute?_ Yea, he'd thought it.

"What? No, that's not … I want …" _Fuck, she's a pain in my ass._ "Ana, I want you safe. Besides, who would see us?" _The murderer, the police, the press._ His other submissives, waiting their turns. He scowled at himself.

"Let's just go, alright?" She grumbled out of the car.

The whole exchange, not to mention the little breeze that forced the rain sideways, made the walk that much more chilly and weird. His unabated affection for Ana left him with a deep dilemma. He wanted her safe and unexposed. With him, but separated from his transgressions. He'd save her, but saving her meant exposing her to his fucked-up self, which would seem to be _more_ threatening to her well-being than doing nothing, leaving her behind. _Fuck!_

He also sensed a publicness to his burden, as though eyes were on him, watching his sins and malfeasance play out—a judging confederacy to his controlled battle to survive his own life. Susannah had not. Survived. This 'mission' with Ana was proof of that. His need to shelter her from prying eyes was proof there was something grotesque about him to shield her from.

His last thought, before they crossed the street and turned the corner to approach his former sub's home, could have passed for hopeful. _How can she possibly think I don't want to be seen with her?_ He pulled her in tight under his arm and whispered into the shell of her ear, he had to get that close to be heard over the rain of course, "It'll be fine. I'm here to let her go."

* * *

His key still worked and Christian held the front door open for Ana to pass through first. Susannah's familiar smell, a mixture of baby powder and mints, hit him hard as he crossed into her spare, yet inviting home. The sense of her place took him back to their contract days—structured weekends of massive sensual control, when Susannah was a fresh-faced college coed looking for kink and a steady Dom to help her explore.

He was committed to nothing more than his own desires (he'd revisit that word later), and she had been eagerly willing to take all of it, reciprocate and encourage his harsher terms of release. And her flexibility, he thought with a smirk. She'd been double jointed. Christian pushed Ana forward into the apartment to separate her from his recollection, as he inhaled the memories of another woman.

It'd been two years since they'd scened in his apartment, a fantastic afternoon of sushi lessons and bondage, if he recalled. She had a heat fetish that pissed him off, and he'd trussed her tightly in long graduated strands of pearls—a sophisticated hog-tying—hands and legs behind her back, suspended above the bed. He remembered Susannah reflexively laughed as the pearls tickled, just as he was tying her in. And the premise, if he could remember, was that as he fucked her, the pearl ropes got tighter, and really rubbed in, in all the right places, almost massaging her, but leaving a definite burning sensation.

He looked at Ana through the fog of his erotic memories—aside from Susannah's superb squirting, those pleasant protests of hers turned to moans pretty quick, and he'd stuffed her panties in her mouth to shut her up. He preferred silence over a woman's guttural moans, even if he was the cause. He didn't need that shit competing with his control. She had been such a lithe yet strong thing, he'd fucked her over and over til the strands broke apart, and she was left a contented but muted mess quivering beside him. What would Ana have to say about that little gem of a story? _Did she … What got her worked up?_

Later that evening, Susannah approached him before her departure, and announced that she'd prefer to end their contract. Hard limits aside, she wasn't comfortable with her own soaked panties in her mouth. It was disgusting. "Fuck your safe words and hand signals. I have a little bit of dignity." Her message was clear. 'You're disgusting Dr. Grey.'

In one of his life's many ironies, he'd spent a great deal of time with her recently, in her rotation as a surgical resident. She was smart, and naturally inclined to deliberation, she'd be a fine surgeon one day. All in, his behavior toward her had been a study in professional and professorial conduct. Only his private thoughts had been selfish. To escape, or force her eviction from the program. Poor Leila was again the vessel for his voiceless diatribes against Susannah medical career. How did he reconcile those urges to eliminate her and cast her out of her job, with his actual charity—footing the bill for her education?

These recollections of Susannah, her hunger and humor, her boundaries and life, did something to him. Opened a hole. He didn't miss her. Nor did he feel an affection. It was more a gap, a vacancy. He felt an emptiness, as though a room had been built up around them, yet the space was unfurnished. He almost wished for a wave to crash through those walls and swallow him, bathe him in care and concern for this bright young woman. But instead he felt a loss of something, someone, that should've mattered more. Should have been important to him. But now standing in the front hall of her home, Susannah's life was a big slap in his face. He was depleted and alone.

Ana removed her jacket, letting the sleeves slink down her arms, as she headed through the foyer and turned left toward the heart of the house. The kitchen. She talked some to him, in a light-hearted though solemn voice, but he knew she didn't want any of his responses. This space was not hers, and Christian sensed she understood he wanted privacy among Susannah's things. Ana obliged by keeping her chatter light, and moving herself about. It was good to have her close. Safe.

Christian pulled on the gloves he'd tucked in his back pocket, and looked around the entry hall at the practical furnishings and the many photographs. Her family featured prominently. He recognized Susannah's smile in pictures of her brothers. A youthful, lopsided grin in one revealed Susannah had capped her teeth, and possibly changed her nose. Her father appeared ageless in the pictures. A healthy man with a scowl, and his daughter's same bright blue eyes.

Christian didn't like studying the intimate photos, and he passed further in, to the large lived-in main area. A cavernous space made smaller with deep grey sueded walls and matching curtains; lighter grey area rugs and throws, layered around deep purple furniture. It looked like winter.

Her decorating reminded him of fleshy eggplants and overripe grapes, long faded bruises and ligature marks, rope burns that resembled pale tattoos. There was a desk at one end of the couch, a television beside a fake ficus tree, several small tables and more overstuffed chairs for sitting.

He sunk down into the antique-looking chair that sat in front of her desk and turned on the small brass lamp to look over her belongings. He could hear Ana's feminine steps walking around on the tiled kitchen floor, getting closer.

"What are we here for? What are we looking for?" She called to him, over the island dividing the rooms, her first words in some time.

 _I wanted to honor her,_ he said to himself. "Proof." _Proof that we did what we did_. Evidence that he'd participated in a deviant lifestyle with her.

He stood to greet Ana as she came in, a charmed expression on her face, walking the far wall where Susannah had matching black bookshelves lined with unremarkable books, magazines and more photographs. There were two empty wine bottles, most likely souvenirs. In between, several framed pictures of her classmates surrounded a bulletin board full of outdated invitations and notes, reminders and holiday cards. A neglected bonsai tree, some purple candles and a Bobby Flay cookbook where the only bright moments among the quiet tableau. She wasn't messy. Possibly a fellow control freak.

A gutter spout near the breakfast nook spewed water outside, and the rain seemed to hover around, waiting for them to depart, then possibly it might stop. It was the perfect accompaniment to the dreary task he'd insisted on. To invade her private space with his demons. His future, however dark or distant, was his own and it existed. To have stolen any part of her life, to be aware that her future had ended, possibly due to his meddling, was something so sad and beyond anything he thought he'd ever contemplate. Again.

He sat, this time on her sofa, and thumbed through her magazines. He surveyed the space around him and realized she must have enjoyed entertaining. He counted a dozen places to sit in the cozy room, and almost as many lamps. He could imagine the entire residency class sharing stories and conversing.

"Why are we here again?" She called moving back to the kitchen. He didn't turn to her.

"I want to see her life. I want to …" He couldn't answer really so why bother. Ana is here, another woman he was going to let down. He stretched his arms at his shoulders, and rested his head back against the top of the cushions. Elliot's voice from last Wednesday came back to him: Had he actually let Susannah down? He was paying for her education. That was generous by any standard. Not just his own.

He caught movement in his periphery. Was it around the corner of the bookshelf, down the hall? Ana called from behind him though. He was vaguely aware of the dissonance between the shadow movements and her voice. Maybe they weren't alone. He instinctively stood, and that's when he saw it.

The sickening Associated Press photo and the accompanying headline … _'Seattle Doctor Among Victims in Afghan Hospital Bombing'_ The clipping was old, tucked behind some Keith Urban tickets and an astrologist's business card. Above it, she'd pinned the newspaper article about him. Standing there immobile, he felt a strange calm for once, and it surprised him. Here was evidence. Not the kind Ana thought he was after, but evidence nonetheless that Susannah knew him intimately. Evidence that his submissive was more aware of his life than he'd even known. _Friendly Fire, 170 Casualties_

He bounded over the coffee table and moved to the cork board, where he trapped the clippings, folding them haphazardly then tucked them into his jeans pocket. He could sense his heartbeat in his ears. _Fucking Susannah thinks she knows shit._ His gloves made it hard to maneuver the push pins, but he quickly reordered the board to cover the empty spots he'd created. _Susannah knew._

"What?" He snapped and turned around.

"What? I didn't say anything." Ana shook her pretty head from the kitchen, twenty feet away. "Hey, it's me. You don't have to hide anything. Why are we really here, Christian?" _Answer her damn question._

"Ana …"

"You know? I wish you wouldn't say my name at the beginning of every sentence." His expression questioned where she was going. "When you say 'Ana,' I think you're… stalling, trying to calculate. Like, what information you wanna tell me, what to leave out. If you put my name at the end, like, 'we're here because she's my ex-girlfriend and I want to see if there's any evidence that we were together that I don't want the police to see. _Ana_.' See? Then I feel like you're letting me in."

"She was never my girlfriend."

"Is that all you heard?" She blew her bangs up and her eyes followed, then she blinked and caught his eye. "But—you paid for her medical school?"

"I could afford it."

"That's not an explanation."

"It's the truth." She turned away. " _Ana_." He started to laugh. "Sorry. _Ana_."

"Please don't make jokes. You're not funny. You're secretive with me."

"Why are _you_ here? _Ana?_ " He'd moved back to the desk and started fingering the meaningless papers there, sure someone had already been through them. When he looked up, she was gone, a chestnut cloud passing down the hall, to the bedrooms. _Thank fuck._ He didn't have answers for her anyway. Not now. Not today.

He was beginning to feel an anxious pull in his temples, small little leaks of his horrible history trickling in, filling him with a sinking feeling. _Let her go._ He calmed himself to the realization that Susannah knew about his past. That she'd probably always known and still freely submitted to him. Had Susannah accepted him for who he was? She must have, to let him contort her body and feast on her month after month.

What would Ana think? Could she see past his failures? What if? What if she might possibly redeem him? Was that fair to ask of another soul? Did he deserve redemption? If she knew everything would she see past the mistakes, the dread and death that surrounded him? He removed his gloves, and the symbolism wasn't lost on him. He laid them on the sofa along with his jacket. These nasty memories made his heart race, and his palms sweat.

Susannah knew, he forced himself to think about that. _Susannah knew. She knew all along._ How did _she_ reconcile Dr. Grey, the successful brilliant anesthesiologist everyone admired, when she knew what a piece of shit he actually was? It made no sense. And this self deluded pursuit of a woman far beyond anything he deserved was foolish and self deceiving.

"Christian?" Ana called from down the hall. "Did you hear that? Are you there?"

Before her last words, he was moving back toward the bedrooms, keenly aware that someone may be there, watching. To harm. Christian grabbed a kettle bell from among the exercise equipment near the flat screen.

"Don't move. Stay where you are." The hall appeared empty, but he heard movement now, and the creaking grew louder.

Even as he made his way along the wall, he was chastising himself for permitting her to come. Whether to have locked her in, alone at Escala, or tucked into his R8, one street away… _Ana is safer with me._ He knew he couldn't let her she'd been harmed or taken while he was apart from her, or left on her own, it would have tortured him for the rest of his days—unbearable. Ana with him, here—even if the danger were lying in wait—was the lesser of two evils. What that evil may look like, he could only guess.

His adrenaline kicked and he found it easier to focus. His breathing, though elevated, was controlled. He settled his mind, and gripped the weight hard. _Whatever disaster lay hidden, Ana will leave unharmed._ There was no way out for any intruder, he would end this now. Ana will stay reconsidered his choices, thought about his allowances again, as he surveyed each empty room, and he drew the same conclusions. Ana is better off _with_ him. It was a revelation.

He surveyed the empty closet in the last bedroom. _With me._ There were six rooms in the apartment, and two bathrooms. As he finished searching, he determined they were alone. He came back to the main area calling to her, then spied her smiling in the middle of the bathroom at the end of the hall.

For some time, they stared at each other, neither speaking. All that adrenaline he'd built up to save her a moment ago, and his only thought was she is even more alluring than he could ever imagine. He pictured her jeans pooled at her feet, her thin cotton shirt clinging to each of her feminine curves, a toothbrush hanging from her small pouty mouth. _Home_. His home. The lighting behind her made it hard to read her expression.

"It's people upstairs." He lifted his head as he set down the bell and wiped his face, calming himself. "We're alone." Most definitely alone.

"You're sure? We're alone?"

More scuffs were heard above them. "This is an old house," he panted, "everything sounds closer."

* * *

It must have been his confidence that made her step around him and move back down the hall. He followed her toward Susannah's room, and waited while she looked for the light switch. When she'd lit the table lamp beside the bed, he stepped inside. Her face was flush and she was visibly breathing, a hitched rhythm in the rise and fall of her chest. He raised his arms above him and rested on the threshold when she made no move to exit.

"Are you the sandman?" He barely heard her.

"Ana …"

"Are you?"

"No."

"But you know who he is?" He approached her to possibly reassure her, but the expression on her face, darker, wanton maybe, was hard to read. She was curious perhaps, but no longer about a possible intruder.

"Yes, I think so." He pulled her head and shoulders into him, as their breathing shallowed out, and she clung there, sliding her hands under his arms to clasp his shoulders. "But I don't think he'd… do this, I don't think he'd hurt Susannah or Leila." Her grip tightened.

"Or Krystal." She mumbled.

He'd been about to turn her mouth to his, to continue exploring, to taste more of her, finish that flawless kiss they'd started in the garage. But her barely audible mention of Krystal—a separate secret he held—put their reconnection out of reach. A huge chasm opened. _The truth you asshole. Share something._ It would have been pointless to explain the differences. He could only repeat her whisper. "Or Krystal."

"Then—"

He squeezed her hard, forcing her back to arch in order to bear his weight, as he pressed his lips firmly against her tiny ear, "There's someone else," he admitted, his hands spread wide to hold her tight as she tensed in his grasp.

"Someone? Another man?"

"Shh, shhhh. Someone dangerous." He wouldn't say more. He knew little to say. "I want you as safe as possible, as far away as possible from all this shit." _From me._

She pulled back to search his eyes. "Do you know who?" He shook his head. He didn't.

"Is it because of your BDSM?"

"Possibly. I don't know." He was trying to gauge her, but she'd moved backwards, further into Susannah's room. She could have moved toward the front of the apartment, his search had concluded. They were alone.

She moved away from the light past the bed. He moved further in, not quite stalking her, but unwilling to be separated by any real distance. He shrugged off an intense feeling that _he_ might not be safe. He wanted to laugh. He'd been in danger since he laid eyes on her.

"How did you get mixed up in all this, sexual stuff?" Her eyes sparkled at that, and she looked him over as she slid further back, resting against the far wall. She was still worked up, breathing loudly. He could see himself in the mirror behind her, and he felt his control slipping.

"I don't know." _Death and violence have always been an uncontrolled part of my life. I found a small measure of control, even if fleeting and temporary._

She moved further toward the closet, into a darker space. Even though he thought she was rejecting him, he moved closer. She looked over her shoulder and took another step away from him, into the closet.

"I'm so broken, Ana. I don't have answers. I will never have answers." Her eyes grew big and still she glided away from him. One hand skimmed along the dark closet wall, while her opposite shoulder brushed the hanging clothes, like she was going to be swallowed among them.

He heard her mouth open, a soft wet noise. Christian began to understand that maybe Ana wasn't moving away from him, but drawing him in, deeper into the dark. He walked toward her slowly, as she slipped back, until she was in the corner of the closet where she stopped and watched him approach. He was close enough, and there was just enough light, to see her eyes were tearing.

She looked away from him and swallowed. "I'm afraid of the dark, actually." She giggled. He reached for her trembling chin, but she shook him off. Her supple hands said give me a minute. And he slipped deeper under her spell.

She opened her mouth on a smile. "It's hot, a lot of it, when you think about it. But it doesn't scream humanitarian doctor," she laughed again, and he felt a moment's joy. "Sorry."

Returning her smile, "I'm a man first." He weighed what to say next. Was she wanting convinced or seduced or rejected?

"Mmm." His lower body swayed to her moan and he shifted himself for a little relief.

"I heard a rumor once, that it was a therapy for PTSD." He confessed.

Ana's voice morphed to horror. "Christian."

"Relax, Ana. It's not. I don't know which came first." To succumb or to control. The self-medicating or the submissives. That was a lie. But he wouldn't tell her that. The drugs were always first, always available and in his mind's eye. Watching his patients succumb, his victims, he scrubbed that thought. That's what he wanted. Every waking moment at first.

"Now that I think about it. Does it matter Ana?" It most likely did, it probably mattered a great deal to someone like Ana. An innocent young woman seeking a life partner to love and cherish the rest of her life. She was sweetness and light. She represented everything he'd fought to save in others. Hope and possibility. An escape. Even his own.

This buoyancy he felt around her was so unbalancing, he knew it was fleeting. At some point he'd feel the rip tide, the thrust down and he'd drag her under with him.

"No, you're right. It doesn't matter." Until now, she'd looked down, her eyes lowered. Now, she seemed to reconsider herself. Her words. She looked into him, and he only saw the shimmer of the whites of her eyes. "Do you want to do that to me?"

"Ana, no."

"They liked it, they like getting hit and whipped?" He nodded. "And you like it to? You love it." He winced. Hesitating.

"It's, it's a pairing, an arrangement. We each agree. There are advantages besides pain and punishments."

"Such as?"

"Ana—" she gave him a glare, "Listen. It's not like there's a stadium of willing women signing up to be gagged and bound. I mean—"

"What are you saying?" He twisted a little, unsure of what he was saying himself. His shirt clung to him, despite the cool thin air in the closet.

"It's a choice. To submit to someone is a choice."

"I'm listening."

"There are people in this for different reasons."

"Please. Tell me. I need to know."

"I don't want to get into it."

"Will you tell me? Please?"

"Not everything, no. But when you, reach an agreement, you … you adapt to their needs. It's part of the trust. Some love to be whipped senseless. Some like role playing—"

"Is that what you wanna do to me? Whip me sensel—"

"No! I don't want any of that for you." _But I need it._ He felt defeated. And he was disappointing her with the truth. "It's all I know. Control, submission. I don't know what more I can offer."

He finally comforted her, his hand on her wet cheek. Her rapid breaths warmed his wrist. One look at her tongue swiping her lips, and he knew where this was headed. _Let her go._ "You have to know I can't do this. What you want. I'm not that guy. I can't be that guy."

"How do you know what I want? You never asked." She reached out to him and returned the gesture with her long slender fingers. She calmed him and aroused him at once. She knocked him down and rebuilt him with every challenging retort, every knowing look.

Her eyes, though. They were dark now, and saw through him so thoroughly, he felt gravity below him slip a little with each longing glance. He closed his eyes, and leaned into Ana's healing hands.

"Ana. What do you want?"

"Everything." She shuttered. "You can give me everything."

In this private quiet corner, she squeezed his face, as her cold nose glanced against his lip, then her mouth tugged on his, massaging his lips with her tongue. ' _Mmmm'_ …. The sound she made did something to him. "I knew. I've always known." She had to look away. He stood in shock, or relief, in anticipation, nervous of what might happen next. _He was fucked._

She affected him so deeply, and he was helpless. The sound of her breath mingled with a yearning purr that escaped her open mouth. A warm seductive noise, that set his skin on fire. He looked down where she presented her hands to him, wrists upturned.

He yanked her against him. "No Ana." He squeezed her hands, and laid them around his hips. He managed to find a small measure of sense and realized that he was _with her._ With Ana, together, in a loving embrace. Their lips collided.

"I'm sorry." Damn, he heard that too. "Christian. I have to say this." She bit that damn lip again, and he waited.

"I'm embarrassed by my behavior this morning. How I basically forced myself onto your lap, and drew all over you. And I know I made you uncomfortable. I wanted to be upset with myself afterward, that I'd crossed a line with you, violated the boundaries that I see you protect every minute of every day. But then in the elevator, you told me how beautiful I was."

His chest prickled below her signature. He floated, while the tingle seeped down until he was throbbing with need for her. He licked his lips and dug his fingers into her hips to hold her away from him.

"And then…. God, that kiss. I began to hope—hope that what I was feeling was mutual. And I got angry at myself again that, that… I'm sorry. That I want you so much, and that you are so clearly not available to be with me the way I wanna be with you." She brought her hands to her eyes and wiped away the new tears that were gathering in the corners.

 _Fuck it._ He couldn't resist her. He cupped her neck and rubbed his thumb over her ear lobe as she spoke. He listening to her plaintive pleas, and stared. He let go of any pretense to control this moment, his dominant stare softened into one of wonder, then he reconfirmed the curve of her temple with his nose. He knew she could feel his breath on her skin, and the idea pleased him. At the base of her neck was a shallow recess, where her clavicle shifted as she spoke. His tongue traced along the dip of its rim and pushed into the hollow.

"I want you to know that I am here, with you." She responded as he blew across her shoulder. "Christian, I am not going anywhere but with _you_. If you'll have me. As you move closer to being available to me… I become more. _More_. Not less. I want to be devoted to you and I want to find love with you and I... desire you, I desire to try to create something meaningful to me. With you. You already mean so much to me. If you want me."

 _If I want her. If I become more available? What the fuck is she saying? Doesn't she get it?_

"Fu.." He choked back a feeling, "Ana…" She pulled his face to hers and lowered her voice.

"No. Listen. I know. I know."

"Ana I want…"

"Listen to me. I know that we are real to each other. That—that, when we are together, we are without…intent or agenda. I want to find out what this…realness can be. What we can be together. Please, Christian? I don't want to wonder anymore. I don't want to find _someone else_ … anymore. Do you?"

As she spoke, her breath had creeped into his mouth, past his ears, down his throat and seeped into every pore. _Real to each other. Together. Devoted._ Christian thought to himself, I need that damn dog to talk to this angel. He grinned on her lips.

Her mouth tasted like peaches and salt. They pulled back for only a second, and looked at each other, unable to find words, sensing that something very unusual was happening, and any moment, it might slip away. He crushed his arms around her and kissed her deeply, letting his body express what he thought of her. With erotic visions, he lifted her up slightly so he could more easily squeeze her to him as he traced every inch of her mouth with his tongue. It was then that she made the most gorgeous, sighing sound he'd ever heard.

He'd stared at her for weeks, held her innocent face in his mind, hour after soul-scratching hour. Gazed on her very feminine mouth until he'd memorized every crinkle and line, the palest pink curve where her pigment had run out, the rich darker interior, where he noted her plump lower lip was permanently bruised from the assaults of her incisors. His own teeth marked her lips now, kissing and rubbing and gently chewing her soft flesh. _Incredible_.

Her breathing, her fucking breathing was drowning out her needy sighs and mewls. _He_ was drowning in the sounds her throat made underneath him; when her sweet mouth opened and closed, the moist sounds when their lips separated the slightest, these noises enervated every cell within him. His shiver matched her vulnerable whimper when he kissed her fully, tasting her. He was losing his breath. Pressing his face into hers, noses glancing, bodies crushed together, his logical self fought for dominion over the rest of his emotions.

She was the most familiar figure in his fucked up life, she was the most exotic creature he'd ever encountered. She was his restless neighbor, she was his beautiful siren. This was no fantasy, this was real. She was his future, his deepest desire, his darkest pain. He was fighting himself, and it was useless. _What's the point of fighting if you'd already lost?_

"Ana, I can't let you go."

"Please don't. "

He knew nothing serious would happen. Even though he wanted nothing more that to peel her out of her clothes, hear her naked skin move against his, breath in her every scent, caress all her curves, he had too much control over his own body, his physical reactions.

His emotions and libido, not so much. He wanted her, he wanted to consume her every sensation. He spoke her name again and growled. His mouth punished her satin skin with huge wet smacks. He rubbed his nose back and forth across her jaw and bit down on her earlobe. He panted, smelling his own breath mingling with her sweet scent all along her face and neck.

He'd enveloped her by now, his arms fully around her in a tight embrace. She was powerless to resist the vulgar rolls of his hips, as he sought to engrave her pelvis with his half-mad gyrations.

* * *

His licked the inside of her mouth over and over, as it hit him. His heart was breaking. He heard her now, her desperate demands. _Devoted?_ How he could need this woman, this delicate woman, who was giving herself over to him so freely, and she had been, when he was too emotionally damaged to reciprocate her affections? How could she… cry over him? He felt dazed.

He pulled back to protest, but then she pressed herself further into him, and stretched her taut body up to kiss his eyelids, his nose and face. She giggled his name on an exhale, and he surrendered to the sweet oblivion she was offering.

Her arousing presence, her _seduction by existence,_ was painful in a way he'd never known. The Dom in him wanted to take her quickly, against the door, cover her wicked body in between the clothes there and fuck her over and over until the pain subsided. He knew it wouldn't matter. This heart ache burned in his core, pulsed and fanned out to his chest, across his skin and back, where it spun out and found only the slightest relief where Ana tugged at the roots of his hair.

" _Enough,"_ he growled, and dug his fingers into her body, crushing her to him.

She mewled in surrender, and took a deep breath, "I feel it too. Oh my God." She went still and her spine stiffened. For a brief second, he thought she'd passed out, but his lip was trapped between her teeth, and she moved her tongue back and forth with real pleasure.

He was hers. Never, never had he felt anything like it. He was drowning. How could survive the hurricane waves that was simply kissing Ana? He was suffocating.

"Christian, we have to stop," she begged. But the swirling ache within him overrode Ana's plea. He ignored her, pulling her tighter. She nipped his chin, ran her fingers up his neck and stroked his scalp.

"Ana" he sang out, and slid his tongue across her lips kissing her wildly. She hummed below him.

"We can't. Not here. Please." She was horse with emotion and choking on lost control. He opened his eyes. She pushed his shoulder, and he acquiesced. He kissed her nose and held her as close to him as possible, pressed into the darkness of Susannah's closet. Isolated.

It was okay. His eyes found hers. He was about to reassure her, tell her it was alright, when the image of Susannah's haunting blue eyes came into his view, staring up at him. She was so still, laid out lifeless, her cold body silently submitting, waiting on the slab for the next blow.

In that moment, he realized he'd never truly hated himself until now. It was a pure feeling, and his dormant self-loathing released itself like a snagged line unraveling at great speed. An anchor dropping that tethered him to this spot, the dark closet of his dead submissive. He recognized now, what he'd never considered—what his self-loathing had cost him.

He despised his choices. His own slow self-medicated euthanasia. The morbid decisions he'd made as a doctor. The selfish way he handled his private life, the whippings. The massive loneliness that meant he held a bewitching woman in his arms, and she was thinking what a sick twisted fuck he was. _'You like to fuck hard.'_ He laughed as he gave up, something else for her to misinterpret.

"You're right." He kissed that mole and lingered over her, smelling her enchanted skin again. "You're right Ana. This is wrong." As he pulled her hand from behind his head, he felt her foot release his calf, where she'd wrapped herself around him. When she almost fell, he realized only her shoulders had been resting against the wall. She'd merged her tight body wth his as best she could, suspending herself in his willing arms. The many ironies and levels of connection weren't lost on him.

He watched in silence as she straightened herself. The moment gone.

* * *

Christian walked out of the bathroom, and found Ana in the kitchen again opening and closing cabinets. He joined her for a moment. Why he was doing this, he didn't know. Ana knew where things were. He'd never been in a woman's place before. _Except Ana's. And hers is a goddamn military festival._

"Hey, she has ground coffee? I don't believe it." Ana crossed in front him, nudging him aside—a little rebuke from his dismissal of her in the closet? Or was she simply flirting? He was unsure. "No way she ever drank blond roast." She lifted the bag of coffee down from the shelf.

"Are you fucking with me?" _Blondes? Is she fucking real?_

She released that poor lip. "No, what are you swearing about?" She froze looking inside, her eyes shot to his and her face raised in a mischievous smirk.

"Something's in there?" He asked. Ana grinned. "How'd you know?"

"I don't know. Dr. Roberts is… was an espresso snob. No way she brewed her own coffee."

Christian shook his head. _She's amazing. Or a murderer._

"Besides," she motioned toward the far counter. "She has a pod machine right there. Is it creepy if I really want an espresso now?" Christian studied her, but she blinked her eyes away. He sensed a shyness between them, and it felt normal, happy.

"What? Let's get the fuck out of here, Ana." He grabbed the coffee bag from her hand as she shuffled over to the machine. He held her fingers a moment, forgetting himself.

She shook her head. "You kind of kept me up late," she kissed the finger he'd been holding, like he'd burned it. "I didn't have my therapy dog. And I didn't get to finish the cappuccino I made at your place. It'll just take a minute." She giggled. _Giggled._

"Ana?" He started to reply.

"Hmmm?" She simply smiled at him, and he was propelled toward her. "Can I tell you a little secret?" She teased over her shoulder. _Shit. She knows._ "We live in the Seattle. I'm making an espresso. I'll only make one. We can share."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, to interrupt her preparations. As he did, she leaned into him and nipped his chin, grabbing the bag and spinning into the middle of the kitchen. "Hey. Ana." He sagged, knowing what might be inside.

"Bingo!" She looked from the contents to him and he tensed, but only momentarily.

"Bingo," he repeated quietly, wondering what in the hell was in the bag. She lifted out a smartphone and some mail. _She won't be satisfied just handing them over._

He wanted her so badly, but he wanted her safe too. He felt his dilemma surrounding his angel diminishing. He was slowly losing this battle within himself. What was the point of fighting if he'd already lost? He'd kissed her over and over, he'd already lost hours of sleep worrying about whether she was still breathing. _Fuck, she is standing in Susannah's kitchen, holding up your fucking dead sub's iPhone._

"That's our phone. Susannah's iPhone." He smiled fondly at the real memory of giving it to her.

Ana passed him two letters. One envelope was blank. The other, a letter addressed to Susannah in frilly script, he recognized, along with the initials in the corner. He added them to his back pocket, where he'd hidden the headline detailing his other failures.

"Her Dom phone. Only for me. It was the contract phone to discuss our arrangement, rules, responsibilities, that kind of shit. How we maintained our …" _He searched for a euphemism Ana could swallow._

"Oh." She had to look away. She pulled out a portable battery still attached. "It's charged. Do you know her passcode?"

"665683."

"Really? You know it."

"Yes, I know it. We were…"

"Together. I know." She sulked.

"No, not together." He took the phone from her. He wrapped the cord and charger around the phone and stuffed it in his other back pocket.

"You're not going to check it? For clues?"

He paused. I can give her this. "What? Here, you can have it." He swayed handing it to her. "I just wanted to get the phone. I doubt there are any clues. There won't be any messages. We hadn't …"

"5683, that spells love."

He laughed, "What?"

"Her passcode is 66 L-O-V-E. That's—"

He blushed, "'No Love.' The first rule of the contract." _You asshole. You're pathetic._ His mind raced to tell her something to take the sting out. He wanted to walk it back. He wanted the phone. He had no idea what might be on it, but right now, it sounded like the police didn't have evidence of their arrangement, actual evidence of his time with Susannah, nothing more than an association with Leila and Krystal. There was the dog breeder upstate, but he probably didn't want any attention. Christian would worry about him later.

Ana nodded. "Yea, the contract." She got it, but she looked like she was trying to hold in a mouthful of strychnine, to avoid fully digesting the poison. His poison. "Ana, what is it?"

"Susannah texted you last Tuesday." She passed him the phone without looking at him.

"What?" She wouldn't look at him.

"She asked you to meet her in the library. I want to make a joke and say with the rope and Miss Scarlet, but…"

"What the fuck Ana? What games are you playing?" She visibly shrunk and recoiled from him, moving back to the breakfast nook creating a huge space between them.

"It was a stupid joke, alright?" She managed to toss her sweatshirt on and pull her hair back in one fluid rhythm. He was mesmerized again.

"Sorry. I never got this text. I never saw it."

"So that's it, you say you never got the text? It's just a phone and some letters? How did you know?" He didn't want to tell her. But he needed to touch her so he motioned her to a spot between his legs. She moved her sweet ass back over to him.

"Ana." He touched her face.

"Don't you get tired of Ana-ing me?" She searched his eyes. "It hurts, you know. Almost any form of curiosity I show you is met with an 'Ana.'" He stared at her mouth. "What?" She asked, wiping at her face and chin in response. Then settled her gaze to the window, squinting to judge the current downpour.

He shook his head, "Come on let's go. I want to go to the hospital."

"Now! You want to go to the hospital now? But, you found some evidence. She was scared and she reached out for you. What if— Who else—"

"It's not evidence."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply."

"No you didn't. I'm aware of my situation." He leaned into her.

"So what's the iPhone really for? Why are there secret letters hidden in a bag of ground coffee in a medical resident's home? You knew about them and wanted them. But you're not the sandman?" She rubbed a shiver down her neck.

He shook his head. "I didn't know about them. I suspected. It makes sense that she would document the time we spent together."

"Geez, Christian. Document the time you spent together? It sounds like you shared an expense account, or a sabbatical in Greenland. Not a relationship."

"It wasn't a relationship." She met that with a skeptical huff. "Yes, it was a relationship. Look Ana, I don't want to fill your head with this shit. I don't."

"Then what do you want to do, Dr. Grey?" She flirted. He narrowed his eyes. "Sorry I was just being silly. I get it. You don't want to tell me about your, your old conquests. It's kind of sweet. But you know, the police think you killed these women. That's serious and comes with 30 years to life. I don't know how you keep yourself out of that." He winced at her obviousness. "To be honest, I would've been here too, if I'd been _involved_ with the victims."

"I don't want to tell you because …" and there were the thousand words and answers he'd been stuck on. He didn't want her to leave, to recoil from his habits, and he didn't actually think he wanted her to stay. He kissed her chastely instead, to temper himself. Her name escaped him on a low hum—a moment's melody caught in his head. She pulled away.

"Christian, I'm okay. I get it. You don't want to tell me because you think I'll realize she didn't matter to you," he frowned. "She didn't. Not really. And you're probably thinking, if I had an intimate relationship with Susannah—"

"It was never intimate, Ana. It was—" She ignored him.

"You're thinking, I had a purely sexual relationship with Susannah, and now Ana's gonna think that's all I want. And that she won't matter to me either." She leaned herself into him, her head against his chin.

"That's not what I'm thinking." Ana already mattered more than anything else. Those earth shattering moments in the closet proved it, beyond any reasonable doubt. _Ignorance is bliss. That's what I'm thinking Ana, but I can't fucking tell you that. The less you know about me, the more likely you'll remain._

He kissed her then, again and again, savoring her soft welcoming lips, every inch of her mouth, hoping to taste a little of that ragged innocence on the tip of her tongue. He pinned her against the cabinets and looked down into her blushing face, debating whether to lift her onto the counter or leave her standing, tipping her neck back as far as it would go and sucking on the throbbing heartbeat he now saw beating out through her pale skin.

She interrupted him, breathing into his face, "I want what I'm feeling to matter. I've got all these ideas and opinions about what's happening to us." She cupped his chin. "I know." Her eyes followed his. "I told you. I've always known. Since the first time I laid eyes on you …" She looked away.

He bent his knees to level himself with her, and sought to hold her blue eyes in his, pleading. "You do matter, Ana, so fucking much. This is strange and new. I've only known one way. I'm in unchartered territory with you."

She frowned. "That's a cliche." Was she challenging him?

"It doesn't mean it's invalid."

She began to laugh, then bit her lip to think. "How romantic. You are valid to find yourself in uncharted waters."

Laughing out loud, he squeezed her again and smiled against her mouth. He felt her hands caress his back and he flinched, but held her there, flush with him, where he imagined her perfect hands massaging away his pain, all his scars and his damaged self. "You're here with me. I want this, more than you can know. It's my life, my past. The hell I've lived. I won't drag you under. I don't want that."

 **thank you for reading and reviewing, I love all your feedback so much. :) Shout out to the FB FSOG Sisterhood xoxo**


	7. Chapter 7 Angels & Demons

_Welcome back! To anyone in the paths of all these hurricanes, my prayers are with you, and I hope this fun chapter gives you a moment's distraction :) I had a couple notes to share: Doctors Without Borders is the English name for MSF, Medecins Sans Frontieres, an independent, international organization that provides medical aid where it's needed most, even war zones. In this story, I will refer to them as MSF for brevity. If y'all want to learn more about the amazing, dangerous work they do, check it out: .org_

 _So…the story. Ana and Christian got to know each other over the five nights they spent together on his couch a couple weeks ago, and that's when his deep feelings really coalesced. My plan is to pepper in flashbacks of those five nights throughout the story. This chapter has the first of those flashbacks. I'm letting you know in case my clunky delivery makes it unclear that it's a flashback. Lol_

 _Also, I'm telling you now—fiction remember :)—that Christian is deeply flawed. Surprise. He may behave unethically, but it's only meant to be self-destructive. He'd never do anything to jeopardize a patient's life. It's not in his character, that we know of. So, before any of you decide to post up your outrage, please remember I am as much a fan as any of you. xo KC_

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 7 — Angels and Demons**

 _Saturday, August 5 (_ _still lol)_

"I can't stop, Ana." _Her mouth is made for me. I can't pull away._ She moaned, smiling against him, feathering his lips with hers.

"I can't stop either," her eagerness matched his in a passionate gaze. "I can't believe you're kissing me." Christian shifted below, closing his eyes to start their oral tango all over.

The front seat of the Audi wasn't that conducive to an impromptu seduction, but she was trapped with him, not likely to run out onto the soaked hospital parking lot. They'd been making out in the front seat for several minutes, and like the rain outside, there was little chance that they were going to stop soon. Christian was caught in his dream again. His bittersweet fantasy of a bright future with Ana. He pushed that aside as she moaned again, and focused solely on the beautiful woman in his arms, her tender sounds.

There was something so elementally feminine about her, maybe that's what he loved. The wavy curve of her chin underneath his thumb, the arch of her slender neck as his hand gripped gently, the way her tiny fingers slid around his ears, where she pressed and released his scalp, in time with each pass of her tongue against his.

There was a hitch to her breathing, maybe the same cadence as her most private parts clenching. He could only imagine of course, that every part of her was rhythmically contracting, down to the sweet folds between her denim clad thighs.

Christian shook his head to rid himself of a new lurid visual… naked Ana laid back in his bed presenting herself. _'Look how you make me feel,'_ she sighed, stroking per pink center.

Ana took his head shake as a tease, and she nipped at him to pull him back.

"Christian." Her voice possessed a lilting desire that was music to his ears. There was no other way to describe it. Her frankly noisy enthusiasm set him off.

For a man who practiced silence almost religiously, to eliminate the risk of uncomfortable sounds, Christian's response to Ana's sensuality was too much. He craved her sounds. He leaned into her harder and sucked her face, urging on her raspy pleasure.

"Ana, you're fucking sumptuous."

"Hmmm…" She hugged him with the side of her face, and puckered against his stubbled cheek. "That's my word."

"Yes, it is." _And you're mine._ Her serene blue gaze surprised him most, when he tried to reset himself, briefly opening his eyes.

They were soul-clenching blue, if he had to put words to them. Her eyes lifted him—it was absurd to try to identify even how or why—like a warm blast of air, filling a jib that carryied him on, as a storm brewed around him. It was a good thing. Ana did that. She righted him.

Today of all days, how could he deny himself her affections? He'd been fighting it, when it was inevitable. Ever since that Sunday night, when he'd given into her gaunt form, to help her get the rest she needed, and he'd let her fall asleep on his couch.

Who was he fucking kidding? She'd draped her sexy body across his for five nights in a row and bribed him with the most amazing—

 _Herself_. Ana had baited him into sharing those small pieces of himself, with her most pretty parts: her presence, her acceptance, her goddamn voice. He swallowed hard, and felt the needles return behind his ears, where Ana's hands clung to him.

He closed back in on her, as if kissing her was the only fucking point. But it wasn't was it? He could never afford to fully see solace for himself. Through his closed eyes, he sensed a darkness hover around them, the sky shifting into showers. He felt the chill.

"Someone's watching." Ana whispered. A moment's dread seeped in until he felt the prick where she bit his lip. She hummed an appreciation, and released him to turn to the watcher.

 _Fucking Felix._ Christian rolled his eyes, and froze. He wanted to protect Ana from the prick. _What hide her?_ Which was stupid, because it would only freak her out.

"Stay here." He nuzzled her cute nose, molested was more like it, right as Felix slapped the hood. Christian shot him a look through the dash and got out. He locked the doors for good measure.

Dr. Felix Ramal was the newly ascended Chief of Surgery, a handsome fucker, without a filter. A self-professed adrenaline junkie, the Briton was the epitome of every juvenile stereotype of the bachelor asshole doctor. He had perfectly whitened teeth, hiked religiously, knew a dozen Japanese words for sushi and drove a red Maserati. Leased, but whatever.

Felix was dark and attractive, with a devilish grin and oddly pale jade eyes that fought with his busy sanguine mouth for your attention. He was tall and lanky, the result of his tireless training—a panoply of any number of dangerous physical pursuits he practiced to wear out his tireless body. He rarely slept, hence his interest in the Sleep Disorder Lab. His baby. He published prolifically, but referred to his sleep studies as nothing more than a boring hobby. Christian knew better.

He was an intense surgeon too, and possibly Christian Grey's only "friend." They were former classmates, lived together during their residencies—Felix naturally gravitated to brain surgery, the nerdy medical equivalent of rock star status. And he reveled in it.

Their connection didn't end with their profession pursuits. Their commitments to the hospital went beyond work, extending to research and the wider cause of easing suffering for everyone. They shared a romantic idealism when it came to administering medical aid through Doctors without Borders, or MSF.

And it was Felix Ramal who introduced Christian to the Dom/sub lifestyle. After Afghanistan—when he'd realized the events there were destroying Christian and his fledging career, all those years ago.

As Christian pulled up the collar of his shirt, he watched Ana retrieve her goddamn phone again. He stood in front of his car squinting at Felix through the dusty rain.

"Sorry I'm late. We got held up."

Ramal nodded. "We missed you." They shook hands. "It's fine. I'll bring you up to speed."

Dr. Felix rubbed his forehead back and forth, even though the rain continued to pat down on him. "God, I can't believe Leila's dead. First Susannah, now Leila." He spoke with a hushed tone, eyeing Christian. "Have you been talking to SPD?" Christian glanced back at Ana again, her head was down. She was disinterested, the phone more appealing than staring at his backside.

"Yea, the cops greeted us early this morning." He didn't feel like discussing his subs with another Dom right now. Or murder. _Fuck, it's only the beginning._

"Us? You mean you and that massage therapist? From PM&R?" He maneuvered to get a better look at Ana through the soaked window.

Christian nodded.

"She's good looking. Hot."

"Fuck off Felix." Christian stifled his smile as a wave of pride flushed through him, he straightened up. Felix rested his hands on his hips, puffing his chest. A wave of competition coursed through Christian.

"She sure is your type, isn't she?" No, she's not, Christian thought. _She's nothing I could ever imagine. I don't think she's real._ "She looks like her." He meant Leila.

Christian grimaced. "A little. I don't know. She's so… different. I don't know." He checked on her blurry form again. She was talking into her phone now, giving him the one minute sign.

Felix coughed, then spoke again. "Sydney (Dr. Frost, the medical examiner) spent four hours with Leila this morning. Her body was a bloody mess, covered in bruises from her neck down."

"I haven't seen Leila in some time." _Less than twenty-four hours to be exact. But Felix doesn't need to know that._ Christian feigned ignorance, focusing on the new tattoo that poked out from Dr. Felix's shirt.

"Leila, that woman, she was the sweetest." _Shit, fucking hell! Felix was with Leila?_ The rain had picked up a bit, but it sounded like Felix had more than a friend's interest in Christian's sub.

 _Felix had her?_ _Had my Leila?_ He pictured her sinful body bent over on all fours, happily fucked by his dickweed friend. Her harness attached around Felix's hips, no blind fold, smiling eyes, glowing face wet from pain and euphoria. The hairpin clamps Christian enjoyed using hung from her strained body. She was drooling down the side of her gag, her head tilted to the side. She groaned and writhed in rhythm with him. Christian wouldn't tolerate that shit. In his vision, Leila's head twisted back to look Felix in the face, and it was suddenly Ana he saw, as she reached her tiny hand back and tweaked his own exposed nipple in a bottom up move.

Christian went numb and he briefly separated from himself, leaning back into his car while Felix detailed his shared history with Christian's best submissive. _My dead submissives._

He winced. "What the fuck are you still talking about? She's dead now." He shrugged Felix's hand away, where it rested on his arm. Why were they still talking in the parking lot?

"I heard that Leila got a new Dom a couple months ago. Who knows. And now Krystal is gone too. Like gone man. I think she's dead."

"Felix, I don't know what you're talking about." _Krystal wouldn't get mixed up with a sick fuck like Felix would she? That's fucking nuts._ "Do you know…" _Careful,_ "this Krystal person? I didn't think she had established herself? I thought when I met her, that night, it was her first time at The Drone. I never saw her there."

Ana stepped out of the car, and walked to his side. Whatever Felix was saying was drowned out by Ana's pulsive takeover of his brain and body. Felix politely stepped back and nodded in her direction. Ana didn't appear to mind the rain, but leaned herself into Christian, using his taller frame and right shoulder as shelter, where she shivered. Christian fought himself when he reached up to tug her lip free. His eyes only, he'd let her know later. _Maybe_.

He stared into Ramal, indicating their polite lifestyle chat was over. "I gather I missed the meeting entirely?" Today's meeting was important for their next MSF mission, to either Syria or Afghanistan, depending on how the next few months unfolded strategically in those regions. Several doctors and nurses from Seattle General took extended leaves to volunteer. Tours were anywhere from a few weeks for surgeons and anesthesia, to a couple months for other medical specialists. The pre-planning was complicated to arrange, because so many different areas of hospital practice where effected.

Jason Taylor, the hospital administrator and the wider hospital board, were very supportive of the humanitarian missions, but it was a symbiotic relationship for sure. The impact on hospital staffing was significant, so advanced planning was essential to ensure the stability of services in the Seattle area, as well as create the most effective team in the field, which was often hostile, and always dangerous for the volunteers.

Felix, leaned back to stretch and watched, no doubt curious over the unusual sight of the very private Christian Grey with a beautiful woman on his arm, in broad daylight, outside of The Drone. "Yea. You missed the meeting. We got a lot done. Looks like everyone from the last tour is a go for the next. There are a few new faces and we will definitely have to talk to Brussels before we staff the preventative medicine team. I'll put it in an email. But the fucking vaccinations. Bloody hell. That new senator. He is out for blood."

"What new senator?"

"Wyatt Winfield. He has ties to Leyland Bio(pharmaceuticals). And he is taking the administration's line against our stance on drug prices. He is not our friend, man. It makes no sense that he got hooked into our MSF plans, but I want to eliminate the asshole." Felix cackled. "Take him on a little nature trek up north." For almost a decade, MSF had been advocating for looser standards and lax guidelines for generic drugs to enter the market. This was in direct conflict with U.S. drug companies interests, whose profits were maximized many times over before generics hit the market. It was a simple fact that many developing countries couldn't afford drugs at the market prices companies set, and sometimes they waited years for the genetic vaccines and treatments. Children were especially vulnerable. The idea that the new Senator was now a member of the Seattle MSF group and he didn't support their most basic missions to children—providing vaccines—was perilous.

"That's him over there." Felix pointed to the main entrance, where a large silver-haired man stalked toward the parking lot, a flurry of activity around him. "Senator Wyatt Winfield, he was appointed this year to fill the vacancy when Liz Hughes took that ambassadorship. He asked about you. Wanted to meet you. Probably wanted to stare at your ugly face, get your autograph." Christian was distracted by Ana's sudden nuzzle under his ear.

She pulled her hood back over her pretty head and purred, "I'm cold."

Christian pulled her to him, and nodded at Felix. He didn't give a fucking rat's ass about politics, except where it concerned MSF. "Who the fuck asked him? This is a non-issue. Fuck him. We'll meet without him for the rest of the year. Lose his goddamn number, Ramal."

"I agree, I'll manage him. Let it go, CG." Felix zipped his coat. "Well, I'm heading home, see you Monday?"

"Felix. Dr. Ramal, wait." Christian grabbed Ana's shoulders, and pulled her in front of him. He bit his own lip. "I want you to meet Anastasia Steele. She's the new trauma masseuse. Taylor hired her two months ago." Felix swaggered back over and kissed her cheek. _Asshole, my lips were just there._ He held his hand out for Ana to shake.

"Call me Ana." She smiled. _'Call me Ana?' What the fuck!_ Christian bit the inside of his cheek to distract his anger away from her. He waited weeks for his only-my-friends-call-me-Ana moment. Two weeks ago, when she _'call me Ana,'_ he'd caved and let her sleep in his apartment. _They're still fucking talking._

"… And I'd like to get you into the lab to workup those sleeping issues Dr. Grey indicated you were dealing with. Sorry about that." Christian's grip on Ana's shoulders tightened and he literally shuffled her forward toward the hospital, faster than she could walk.

"Later, Felix, not now." He barked behind him.

Everything, everything in her fucking orbit set him off. The way Felix looked at her, the way she pulled her hood tight, her little sexy moans in the car—while she wiggled his earlobe in her mouth. She floored him. His scars itched for her delicate hands. And her carnal noises, he'd never heard anything so beautiful before. He was so fucking out of balance. On their way over now, he thought about everything Ana had said and done today, lying to the police, drawing on his chest, luring him into a remote corner of Susannah's house to confess her affections?

Now seeing Felix, and discussing his charity, he knew he was going to have to tell her about his past. He could see her walking away from him. Maybe not.

He could always end this, this diversion. After all, he was vulnerable emotionally because of the deaths of the past week. He'd readjust, give it time. Let the emotional echo kick in… He looked down at their intertwined fingers, as they walked toward the main entrance, and cursed himself. _End?… whatever this is?_ That was a joke.

He was so conflicted, it was like this past day could define his life. Tremendous pain and death, intertwined with a sustained elation he'd never known. _How do you fight that and win?_ He had a sense that the past few hours were bad, a foreboding instinct that he couldn't sustain being involved with her, that she was bad, for him. Instead of him destroying her, she might destroy him.

 _How is that even possible? How can someone so sweet and pure. My angel. So in the moment and honest be bad for me?_ Ridiculous. Still it was a feeling. _There's a murderer on the loose, you're worried about her safety. Admit it, you_ want _to need her. Just like she was begging in Susannah's closet._

"What now?" she asked. He pushed her into the side of building and held her face. She stared at him, rubbing her tongue between her teeth. Christian was keenly aware of his surroundings and the ticking clock on this newly discovered affectionate side. He pulled her mouth to his and brushed back and forth, increasing the anticipation.

He needed this. This secret refuge with Ana. The moment he walked through those doors, he'd be Dr. Grey. Different, distant, and unattractive to her. He slid his big hands down her body until he clasped her own chilly hands in his. He held them at their sides. Craving didn't explain the sensations kissing her stirred up. Frenzy was closer, but those feelings unmored him. Beside them, hospital life hummed on. An ambulance came and went, nurses smoked on break. A pair of sister argued over visiting hours. Through his heightened filter, he was even aware of the military presence not ten yards away meant, to instill a sense of security and calm.

 _Fucking calm?_ There were so many triggers for him, it was a fucking freak show. But kissing Ana, the physical act, the level of connection, was all he had room for in his mind. He slowed down, centering himself around her, and it was amazing. She kissed him back with the same passion he poured into her. Their own tiny bubble on the side of the cold brick building. The clawing in his throat returned and he released a giant sigh. "Ana."

And like some new age psycho-babbled cosmic come-together moment, their stomachs growled at the same time. Lunch? They hadn't even had breakfast.

"Sumptuous" they said together, and laughed. Both smiled at the recollection of those special nights that led to their incredible connection.

* * *

 _ **Flashback—Monday, July 23**_

 _ **The Second Night**_

A surprising knock at his door pulled Christian from around his refrigerator. He was high as a kite, weighing dinner options. He licked his thumb, where he'd dipped it into the corner of Ana's lasagna casserole, a little carrot she'd baked last evening to go with her stick—demanding to spend the night with him, to help her manage her insomnia without pharmaceuticals. _Fucking tease._ Her efforts made him smirk, no smile.

Now, he grumbled that this was becoming a bothersome habit, answering his door for unexpected visitors at night. Truth… It was only one. One visitor that had him wired. Ana. She could become an uneasy habit.

He slid his phone from his pocket briefly to lower the music, La Roux's Quicksand, how appropriate, he chided as he made his way to his front door. Christian opened the door, and grinned, he didn't fight it. _Fuck, not again._ There she was, the sexiest woman he'd ever seen. He fought his libido though, and a desperate moan, in time to find his strangled voice.

"Ana?" He was elated, and not completely surprised. He'd avoided her today, again. It was a calculated move, to tamp down the emotional entanglements that began last night when she said _'Call me Ana.'_ She wanted friendship, when he really wanted nothing more than to stuff himself into that pretty mouth of hers to shut her up. _That's bullshit too._ He wanted to stare at that pretty mouth while he listened to her.

' _Call me Ana.' Goddamn, those three words._

The rest of last night (Sunday) was a blur: He replayed his decision-making out of habit, a control, a safety. Anastasia was anything but safe, full of her goddamned surprises. Her appearance at his door, peddling homemade food, asking for help to sleep, to recover. His own choice to give in—overwhelmed that she'd cooked for him, _what bullshit_ —to grant her a small allowance, and permit her to spend the evening with him. _'Call me Ana.'_ He shook his head now. _So fucked._

Granted, last night Ana was so past tired, exhausted yet brave in her approach, somehow they both understood a connection existed. He was still shocked that she found enough comfort around his asshole demeanor to succumb to the sleep she sorely needed. She had seized control on the sofa, positioning her tight little body on top of his lap, curled into him, and forced him to hold her.

Last night, they lay silently for a few minutes, watching his instructional video. He shook his head now. Before she drifted off to sleep, she had the audacity to compliment _his_ hands, as the movie demonstrated his preferred intubation techniques. She had grabbed his right hand, from where it rested on—more like claimed—her hip, and studied it. Her mumble rung in his ears, _'you have incredible hands'_ as her own fingers worked up and down his knuckles, turning and twisting his hands, cradling his thumb.

' _I'm shocked you're not a surgeon. They're so soft.'_ How this vision of physical beauty and spiritual calm could find his hands attractive, he didn't understand. Her own magnificent hands were solely responsible for the entire scenario in front of him. _If she hadn't been massaging that lucky fuck while Grandpa T was recovering…_ Her hands were so graceful and ah, hell. No sooner had he begun to recover from her considerate appraisal of his hand—hell, he felt like at any moment she might read him his fortune—she'd fallen asleep. A light whimper escaped her lips: _'thank you'_

He realized then, that while it was true, that they had mostly shared unspoken moments that still reverberated inside him like a loose current, he found he wanted her to talk. He wanted her to voice her life, her mind with him.

She must have felt that too, because tonight for a second night, here she was standing in front of him, her big blue eyes holding his a moment too long. Whatever hazy narcotic effects had been coursing through him moments earlier, they ebbed down to sober, and he stood stone still, staring. For too fucking long, but who gave a shit.

"Hi," was all she could blow out past the crimson blush that mirrored his own. She lowered her eyes and motioned for Sophie to head on in. Ana followed. Clever girl… He inhaled her lingering lotions from work as she breezed past him, not stopping until she'd dropped her bags on his kitchen counter. He trailed behind and inexplicably found himself helping her unpack. Groceries? _Fuuuuck. She went food shopping for us? Us?_ His confidence to maintain his distance slipped a little and he looked to her for guidance. Her eyes never left his as the two of them pulled out baby vegetables and dairy from her recycled sacks. _What is she thinking?_

"I missed you at lunch," _Ah, the lunch I deliberately avoided._

His eyes diverted to her hospital ID. And the treacherous Dom inside forced him to take her all in, his eyes traveling up and down her beautiful body. She was still in her physical therapy uniform. He had an irrational thought that she must shop at some sexy nurses' depot, because she looked edible in her, what to call her damn outfit? It screamed hidden delights and he tamped down a slight urge to punish her for parading herself around in, what? A faded blue turtleneck and men's khakis? He licked his curved lips, imagining her long pale neck, deliberately hidden. _Fuck off, Grey. She's grieving and needs a friend._ ANASTASIA STEELE her ID read. _'Call me Ana'_ in her own hand underneath. He reached across and yanked the damn lanyard over her head. "Here, this was in the way."

Her clothes aside, it was clear she'd come to his apartment straight from work. His satisfaction over this tiny choice almost overrode his guilt that he'd avoided her all day at the hospital. He looked at her under hooded eyes. He'd offer an apology, this once.

The truth was, he doubted she'd go to work this morning. When he conceded to share lunch with her, he was highly skeptical she'd actually show. Ana told him last night she hadn't been to work in days. She's suffering from insomnia. Hell, he thought she might sleep all day.

"I apologize Anastasia." His token sorry didn't acknowledge the fact that she'd gone to work, the first time in a week. He smirked at her submission, then laughed at his logic… He was reaching to think she actually submitted based on his encouragement that she get back into the routine of her patients and rehab work. His eyes moved to her hands. _Who did they touch? Did she hurt anyone?_ He winced.

She shook off his apology. "It's 'Ana,' okay? Maybe we should exchange cell numbers, so we can let each other know…"

"I—" he moved on, "I ate your kale salad, very good. Thank you."

"Fine." She huffed. They finished unloading the groceries and she fed Sophie.

Christian hovered around her, finding himself under the influence of something more powerful than his pharmaceuticals. Sensing his slow immersion into Ana, he leaned back against the Cornue and crossed his arms and legs, waiting for her to announce the evening's plans.

"I feel like I took advantage last night, doctor. Barging in and sleeping on your couch."

 _You're doing the same thing right now, sweetheart._ "You did, but I didn't mind." His body eased toward arousal at the visual of his hand between her pale thighs this morning. He shifted to distract her. "In fact, I think if we're being honest, that maybe my body took advantage as well, and I owe you an apology for this morning." Or gratitude, he smirked.

A makeup artist couldn't hold a candle to the blush that swept up her face. "Yea that was awkward," she laughed. She rubbed her hands together.

"I thought I'd make you dinner…" her chest heaved and his heart pumped, "to thank you for last night." She glanced at him. He was pinned against the oven, feeling the handle press against his thighs. "I've never cooked on a stove like yours, and I thought…"

She paused because he hadn't moved. "What? Is this all right? Do, do you have company?" Ana's eyes grew big as she stepped back from the island, and pulled her hands away from the groceries she'd been sorting. She wiped self-consciously along the bottom curve of her ass, it was cute and sultry at once. He gripped his biceps. Christian wanted to cup that ass, spread her buttocks wide while he knelt in front of her and forced her pubic bone into his face. _Kneeling?_ He snapped to, when he imagined her unbound hands slipping along his scalp.

"Ana, that's… not. You don't need to cook for me again." Her eager face sagged incrementally. He instinctively moved to prevent any further slippage and almost tripped, his aching pelvis moving at a faster rate than his legs. He recovered by gripping the oven handle. _How much more does she want? What is she going to take?_ "But if you haven't eaten…" He rubbed his hands on his pants. "What is all this? What did you have in mind?" His head motioned to the fresh food on his island. _Don't look at her._ His neck felt the air shift when she slipped into her radiant smile. _Fucking hell._ He didn't need to see that shit. This was headed in no direction he wanted. _Sure, lie to yourself._

His consent secure, Ana started fixing dinner. In his kitchen. With his pots and pans. His butter, his sea salt. "Well, I didn't have a caveman lunch, like you. I'm hungry. So I thought I'd make us gnocchi with some sautéed mushrooms and savories. I wasn't sure what you'd—"

"Savories?" _Did she say savories? She's so sweet._

"What?" She grinned with raised eyebrows. "Savories? Shallots, ginger, aromatics? I'll clean a few shrimp for you to have as well. Looks like you hit the gym today. Protein coming up, sir." _She's something._ Admittedly, he flexed his forearms at her remark, then bit his tongue to withhold a reprimand. Part of him wanted to evade her lovely eyes, she should be looking down, and he should be feeding her, blindfolded and tied to the chair. But the denier in him fought his controlling instincts— _let her look, if she wants._ He was her 'as well.' _Let her thank you, as well, asshole. She wants nothing beyond your time. Give it to her. She can take care of you, you took care of her. It's an even exchange. Bullshit._

Just like with the previous night's lasagna, Ana planned ahead. The grinch in him disappeared for a moment, and Christian let himself smile at her thoughtfulness. Tonight, she produced a bag of boiled potatoes, cooked in advance. She riced them down to a light starchy mound, then eased in her eggs, some flour and butter, until she had a pale dough that sat warm and plump in the middle of the island. He lingered over her shoulder, mesmerized by her hands' light touches and soft fluid motions.

"Mmm." Maybe that noise qualified as a purr. "You know what you're doing."

"You will too," she replied.

He snarled when she grabbed his hand in hers and brought it up under her arm to finger the dough. He pressed into her warm back and again had to grab the counter to steady himself. _Jesus._ Together, they squeezed and pinched, pressing and rolling until they'd worked up a mound of raw gnocchi. They both audibly swallowed, when he stepped back from her.

"I'll put on the water," he managed to convey in some form of English. He also produced a thin cotton cloth to keep the pasta moist, while they waited on a large pot to heat.

While Ana deveined shrimp and chopped shallots, Christian opened her bottle of rosé, a screw-cap that wasn't half bad.

He thin-sliced a ginger bulb, while beside him Ana made quick work of shaving the truffles, constantly swaying into his side.

She's still suffering from lost sleep, he surmised. _Don't drag this out. Eat dinner, walk Sophie, and deposit them back home._ He bit his tongue.

He kept his distance when he could, but Ana was so goddamn sweet and open. He found he enjoyed watching her hands as she talked. She admitted Seattle wasn't her favorite city, and that she preferred warmer weather. She expressed her sorrow over her dad's death, and how she felt lost now, alone, obligated to stay here, but unsure for how long. He mused that she'd hug him back, if he approached her, and got as far as pushing her shirt sleeves up and circling her delicate elbows in his grip. But then his controlling tendencies pictured swinging her around, with a bungie cord connecting them, and he dropped her arms cold, patting her shoulders instead.

They opened a second bottle, this time a bubbly blush champagne, before the pasta water ever boiled. He popped the cork with a flourish and Ana giggled when it hit the ceiling. He turned to her voice. It occurred to him that in all the years he'd lived here, Christian had never popped a cork, always twisting it off in his large hands, to prevent any sound and keep his sub guessing. _I'm a fool._

In that instant, the world around him receded, and all that was left was Ana. He took the deepest breath and shuttered an exhale, his lips puffing out. _God, what the fuck is wrong with me?_

As four burners cooked their dinner, they looked on and shared a cook's toast. Christian's lungs burned watching Ana swallow. He knew her lips were chilled—she'd lingered a moment too long with the flute at her mouth. His eyelids shivered closed, knowing he'd never taste that sweet mouth. _She's exquisite._ He moved in front of her, blocking the stove. He stepped in and her chest grazed his middle. While she peered up to him, her lower lip disappeared below her nose. His body buzzed. As he feathered her hair in his left hand, he fondled a few loose strands with his right.

She tilted her head to look around him and whispered. "Can I fuck your finger, please?"

 _What?_ He grimaced.

"You okay Christian?" She reached past him and tossed the ginger over a few times before setting it back on the burner. This woman— _check your ginger._ He laughed out loud.

"Yea, I had a long day, Ana. When's this all going to be finished? I'm hungry."

She reassured him she had it under control. _There's that word again._ She encouraged him to set up the table, and make whatever arrangements he wanted with the music. She'd plate their meals in a few minutes. _Ana is a planner,_ he thought to himself. _Interesting. She didn't come over here to cook on an impulse. She deliberately chose to include me._ He'd think about it later.

 _Later…_ So much of his free time over the past two weeks since he met her was spent thinking about the events and utterances and 'later' moments that encompassed his time with Ana. It was easy to add her preparedness to his growing list of Anaisms. _Friend. She wants a friend. Doctor, patient, insomniac, friend. Christ, you think she'd fucking ever submit to you? Dream on._

No, he didn't want that fucked up scenario with her. He wanted to slip into his bathroom and ease his anxiety over this petit person, this gorgeous brunette, who'd christened his pristine kitchen tonight. Who was breaking the goddamn axis he spun his singular barely tolerable life on. _She has no fucking clue._

He couldn't get enough of her and practically escorted her around the kitchen as she opened and closed everything before finally assembling their aromatic feasts to her liking and setting them on the table. He pulled her chair out and then sat across from her, grabbing an innocent nibble from his dinner plate.

Ana clinked her glass. "And voila, the sandman's supper!" she announced. Christian choked out a shrimp into his wine glass.

"Christian, what happened?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Ana. The sandman?"

"What? You are my sandman. You put me right to sleep last night. I honestly don't know how to thank you." She munched on her lip then rubbed her tongue over the sting.

Christian swilled down that half eaten shrimp with the rest of his wine and poured himself more, ignoring what he assumed was her intense curiosity at his overreaction. He smiled tightly and she flipped her hair.

"I know this will be delicious. Thank you, Ana. I…" He was reduced to cotton mouth under her smiling affection. She bewitched him. _Stay tonight._

"Thank you Dr. Grey, for…" She appeared as hopeless as he felt. _I hope she's thinking what I'm thinking._

After some time spent eating in a peaceable silence, Ana said, "I used a secret ingredient. Something to make the shrimp a bit more sumptuous." She conducted an invisible symphony with her fork as she sing-songed her tease. "I wonder if you can taste it."

 _Sumptuous. Ana's whole fucking—everything about her is sumptuous._ Christian winked off her existential threat. He knew it was the kaffir lime. He saw the distinctive leaves from under the cheesecloth when they were massaging her gnocchi. He wouldn't tell her yet. He wouldn't reveal that he knew about her little subterfuge, until later.

"Ana, you don't strike me as a secret keeper." _Shit. Why start this Grey?_ His massive control dwarfed under her charms. _Careful, this is tricky ground._

She tipped her wine glass up, "mhmm," but said nothing more.

With dinner finished, and a quick walk for Sophie complete, Christian again found himself sharing the kitchen with Ana. But what happened next, blew his mind. She was loading the dishes into the dishwasher, dirty.

"Hey Ana, the dishwasher doesn't work. I hand wash. I load the clean dishes in. Sort of use it as a cabinet." He shrugged.

She laughed and looked at him like he'd grown horns. She bent over the appliance door, and inspected the controls. He was horny alright. "Christian, it'll work. Let's just load it. If it doesn't, I promise to wash all the dishes and put them away." A few minutes later, with a drop of dish soap, she pushed start.

"That's impossible" he exclaimed as the swooshing hum of the washer kicked on. Ana pressed her tongue in the side of her mouth, proud of her victory. When she caught him staring at her, she slipped her lip between her teething turned back to the sink where their crystal still needed handwashing. He stood beside her just because. Minutes passed and he was selfishly happy she hadn't left yet. He didn't even consider the wider silent world that passed around them.

"May I confess a secret to you, Dr. Grey?" She faced away from him.

" _Ana._ Sure." He leaned against the counter. _Don't expect reciprocation._

"I don't go to work today."

Christian straightened up and pulled on Ana's perfect face to get a look. _But she's dressed for work?_ Then he stiffened, and squeezed her chin, observing her strained eyes for perhaps the first time all night, not drinking them in as the desirable siren she was. His head was buzzing to hold her tight.

 _It's tough to see other's needs sometimes when your default setting is selfish prick._ She giggled, so he must have said that out loud.

She was still exhausted, he could see it. He cursed himself. All the wine probably made it worse.

Slowly, he pulled the kitchen towel from around her neck and patted her hands until they were dry. He reached up and twisted her shoulders away from the sink, moving her to the heart of his home. She wilted in his grasp. His medical instincts kicked in and he marched her to his bedroom. "Wait here." Twenty seconds later, he'd retrieved two sets of sleepwear from his closet, passing the slightly smaller set to Ana and pointing her back out toward the hall, to the powder room. "Go change," he barked.

When he came back out from his room, she was already perched on the sofa, relief plastered to her. Her hair was still tucked inside his huge t-shirt. He diverted around her and approached from behind, then leaned into the sofa as he bent over to pull her hair free. She was too quick, and turned to face him, lifting up on her knees. She hugged him tightly pressing her face against his chest. "Thank you Christian." When she pulled away shyly, he saw where her tears had darkened his grey shirt. _She's an innocent._

In a move completely out of character, he rose over the back of the couch and slid down beside her, bouncing his shoulder off hers, a brotherly move.

 _I'm going to comfort the fuck out of her_ , he laughed to himself. He positioned her pillow on his lap this time, and she slinked down into him. "Maybe we should tie your hands behind your back, you know, to prevent anymore shenanigans." She rubbed her tongue across her lip and wiggled her eyebrows. _Submissive my ass. God, she's incredible._ He pat the pillow on his lap.

"Goodnight sweet girl. Dinner was sumptuous." _As are you._ She hummed her approval and put his hand back on her hip.

Hours later, in the most still part of the night, long after they'd fallen asleep, Christian woke. Not from a nightmare, he noted. In another first, attributable to Ana no doubt, the silence made him uncomfortable. He sidled off the couch and left Ana asleep. Sophie read his intentions and met him at the front door, wiggling while he attached her leash. He shook his head.

He walked Sophie across the empty park, two blocks down from Escala. The air grew crisp as they plodded around. His own audible breathes were almost visible, normally a centering mantra for him. But tonight, he couldn't find a balance, or shake the feeling that Ana had somehow floated downstairs with him. Her presence was around him, and he felt her eyes on his every step. _She's really got you hypnotized._ The thought stayed with him when he and her dog returned to his apartment. Inside, he slipped out of his jacket and shoes, and went back to his bedroom to change again, into clothes that hadn't just been nipped by the cool breezes outside. He rubbed his hands together as he made his way back to Ana, a haze of chestnut and creamy skin. Her delicate toes hung over the side of the couch. He squeezed them as he closed in on her.

Here was the most attractive creature in the world sleeping on his sofa, a funny, warm and sophisticated woman. And by every clue between them, no one knew beyond him that she was here. She felt safe with him, but that wasn't the most miraculous feeling. _He was safe with her._ He scooped her up in his arms and sat back, cradling her on his lap. He kissed her cheek, tasting the salty residue of her exhausted confession. Then he tucked her head under his chin and fell into a deep sleep.

He woke Tuesday morning at the sound of front door closing. She was gone, as was Sophie. It was best, she probably wanted to avoid anymore of the awkwardness from his inappropriate thigh-groping yesterday. He moaned at the memory, then rubbed his chest, smiling at the new ache there. _Would it last? Would she figure him out?_

To his left, he spied his phone alerts. Message after message from Leila. _'Master'_ He whipped his phone across the room. _I'm going to fucking kill her._

* * *

 _Thank you for reading and for all your reviews and messages._


	8. Chapter 8 Zachary

_Welcome back! Thank you so much for sticking with me. There are some big reveals in this chapter. Sorry it took so long to get here. Would love to hear what you think._

 _Little heads up—fiction remember :)—Christian is deeply flawed. Surprise. He may behave unethically, but it's only written as self-destructive. He'd never do anything to jeopardize a patient's life. It's not in his nature. I am as much a fan as any of you._

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 8 — Zachary**

 _Saturday, August 5th (yea still)_

He glanced to the sky. The clouds were breaking and a little bit of afternoon sun poked through. When he looked down again, he pulled Ana's hood back only to see the sun reflected in her eyes. His mind played tricks, because he thought they changed color. He caught a verdant green streak around the edge. Pfft—mesmerizing. She quickly closed her lids, as she shook her long hair free. _Tempting woman._ He kissed her forehead and inhaled.

"Since your meeting is over already, do you want to grab lunch?" Ana asked, looking at their mingling hands. "We could go to the Octane across the street?" She was so earnest and sweet.

"Perhaps. I need to speak to my brother and check in." And he needed perspective, a few moments away from her.

Elliot would help. His conversation with Dr. Ramal was fresh and he was wrestling with these new feelings about Ana. How did he feel about Felix leering at her, and his entreaties to get her to lie down for him in the sleep lab? Christian was jealous, which was new and unexpected.

He understood, looking into her just-kissed face, that it was inevitable. She's beautiful, smart and desirable, maybe the most desirable woman he'd met. Her smile was intoxicating, and when she dipped her eye lashes, he couldn't focus on anything but their length. He was caught up in her feminine mystique that oozed out of every part of her, and swirled up around him into the atmosphere she occupied. No one should be privy to that but him.

She was already important too, in a way he'd never expected. This morning with the cops, she'd calmed him and supported him. She sat beside him and on him, without judgment. It felt like the opposite. _She_ felt like forgiveness, and acceptance.

He thought a few hours' separation would help him formulate a plan to tell her how he felt. How he'd always felt about her. To ensure she didn't seek anyone else's arms for a long time. _Long time? Until she figures out who you are, what you really are, Grey._

At the same time, he was deluged with thoughts about the devastating present realities of Leila's autopsy and the news clipping Susannah had saved. There was also the real possibility that whomever harmed Susannah and Leila was not finished, and had plans for more of Christian's paramours. What could they possibly gain by hurting these women?

He'd asked Felix for his opinion in the parking lot. Should he contact his other submissives? Felix thought not, that someone had already circulated a flyer at The Drone, telling everyone what went down with Susannah. _"People know CG. Spend your time with the massage therapist, recovering."_ He'd said it with a lascivious grin. _Creep_.

Consequently, he was loath to let Ana stray too far. He wasn't concerned that Felix would hurt her. Not physically. But a nagging fear that Ana was immediately unsafe had settled in his chest, and he couldn't move out from under it. Hospitals held danger too. His eyes fell to the M-16s in the hands of the soldier outside the entrance to his right.

Ana reclaimed his gaze, while he wrestled with all these emotions and scenarios. Leaning into the side of the building, her fingers played with the sticky wisps of hair at the nape of his neck. It was a new way for him to spend a Saturday afternoon with a sexy alluring brunette. She kissed his adam's apple, and he moaned her name again, into her ear.

 _Fucking asshole hurting women._ The fear he felt for her safety was real, no doubt, but he had no experience with this. If he demanded she stay with him, it probably wouldn't go over as he hoped. He kissed her again, pressing his mouth into hers and holding it there, not moving. It was intimate, and communicated something new. _I don't want you to go, I want to hold on to this._ He had so many things he wanted to say to her, so many ways he wanted to say them. Words to trade, physical acts to exchange. He felt her shift against him, but knew what her tremor meant. _I feel it too, baby._ A leash might work. He smiled.

She finally pulled away, and rubbed her lips together. "Ok, see Elliot, check on stuff," she pressed her forehead to his chin, "then what?" She grew reticent. "Sorry, I don't want to sound eager. But…"

Maybe he didn't need to order her. "I'd like us to stay together too, Ana. Safe."

"I'll keep you safe doctor." She smirked. _Safe._ Wonderful, she was wonderful. "I am safe, you know."

"But I'm not, Ana." _You're not safe with me._ He turned his head and flashed his eyes to the men with guns around them, the contracted hospital security. "Come, let's get inside." _The sooner we can leave and get back to us._ He squeezed her hands and they turned toward the entrance.

* * *

The military presence didn't help his fraying nerves. Entering the hospital through this heavily guarded main thruway always heightened his vigilance. You'd think after several tours with MSF and the insane risks of war zones, he'd be immune to the constant notice that his world was unsafe. Regardless of what Christian did in it or it did to him, regardless of the control his measured steps and insulated life were built to contain, their tight boots and guns amplified his awareness of war and it's consequences.

That was the irony wasn't it? The hospital, a safe haven, its sole function, its purpose was to save life, extend it, sustain it, introduce it to the world, and help ease it's exit. It was on some level, an unsafe place that needed men with guns. How could it also need a man like Christian?

This morning, finding Susannah's saved clippings from his time in Afghanistan unnerved him. He was off-kilter and on edge. And his normal routine, his corrective diversion, was fucked to hell. It was Saturday, and his body knew it. The usual outlet for a flash of nausea, brought on from these uncontrolled moments—a willing and aroused submissive—was not available to him.

He didn't think was solely the loss of his physical outlets, though. His anxiety at Susannah's house was not that she'd cared. She was a kind woman, a decent human being, of course she cared. He was unsure of his reaction to her knowledge. What was the extent of it? Did she know what really happened in the hospital in Kuzan? Not the white-washed story. Not the hero trip the press and politicians ate up. Not the story carved in the bottom of his statue in Westlake Park—the one that detailed how many lives he'd saved.

Christian loathed these thoughts. Sure, the good doctor saved many lives that day. Except his own, he reminded himself. Now he was punished to spend his life polishing the statue. In his own hell, his own horrible private living hell. He squeezed Ana hand through the revolving doors, but her returning pulsation didn't remedy his dark thoughts.

Did Susannah know the real story? The one Dr. Nina Petrova, his girlfriend at the time, had fed to the UN diplomats who arrived within hours of the attack? And if Susannah did know of his atrocities, his own crimes, who told her? How did she find out?

Another voice inside him, said there was really only one question. With Ana at his side, he fought with himself, over why? Why would Susannah continue to submit to him? If she knew he was a monster, why did she return week after week? She left him because he'd taken too many liberties with her mouth—only because she'd asked for heat play. He studied Ana's profile, looking for clues to Susannah's submission. It would have been so much simpler… to put Ana in that box. Part of his contracted consensual outlet. He shook off the ache stirred in those thoughts.

She didn't know, he concluded. He found small relief in that. But it didn't tamp down the visceral memories from Afghanistan from intruding.

Ana's dulcet voice was chattering sweetly to him. Their hands clasped as they filtered in among a small crowd of people inside the building's large entrance hall, making their way in and out. Walking together, she cupped his hand in both of hers, headed toward the main bank of elevators that dispersed healers and sufferers alike, together, up down and out into the many sterile bowels of the hospital. He'd declined her invitation to lunch. She must have known he would, because she answered his no again, with an optimistic smile, and he was bothered by that. Her optimism could be a liability, he thought. _Could she really be naive, and not see that I'm dark?_

Their gait slowed as they reached the elevator port.

"I'm going to speak with Elliot and Andrea about the MSF meeting. Get the story on our new Senator. To hell if I'm going to let him throw his weight around about the mission." _And visit Leila in the morgue._ "Where will you be?"

"I'm going up to my floor and… I don't know, get set for Monday. There's always paperwork, and I am going to grab lunch. Want to meet in the doctor's lounge?" She moved to fix his hair, and he stepped back.

The hospital hardly held the atmospherics for… whatever they'd been doing before. If the humid rains, and their earlier sleuthing had whet his appetite for Ana, the sober color palette of illness, the din of disease surrounding them, left him dulled to the sensual rhythms they'd shared at Susannah's. But if he was anything to her, he was polite, and he would have suggested meeting her later in the lounge if she hadn't.

"Yes." He released her hand and crossed his arms, "The doctor's lounge. An hour?" She nodded skeptically.

He stopped himself from apologizing. What did she want, he was at work.

Ah, she felt dismissed, and sensing this, he kissed her forehead. Several times, marking her. He watched as her blushing form eased away, playfully walking backwards, eyes still on him. Within himself, he sensed a new tug, a depression forming. Don't go, he thought to himself, and then, please do go. Instinctively, his hand covered his frown. Ana's smile fell, and he watched her draw her phone to her ear, again. His eyes dropped as he turned the other way. He had a catalogue of punishments for that phone already.

She was so similar in many ways to Leila especially. Was he attracted to her simply because she was potentially another in a long line of willing submissives? No. Never. Not her. Not Ana.

Christian Grey took his time walking down to the Emergency Department, to see who was on call. He focused on the business in front of him, the noises and sounds of treatments and care. He breathed deliberately as he transformed into the brilliant doctor he played. The hospital was his field of play. Whether or not he was on call—the primary member of the anesthesia team—he was always dialed in. The quickest way to those nerves of steel, he laughed to himself at his pun, his controlled manner, was to step into the trauma unit, Seattle's only one, located in the emergency wing. His brother Elliot Grey, associate professor of Psychiatry, would anticipate that's where Christian would be, and he'd be there waiting, to check in.

The ED was sight of some of his greatest successes and reminded him of his experiences in the field, with MSF. Maybe he was looking for a little safety, some security amongst the chaos churning within him—from the difficulties that lay ahead for his charity, from the mind-blowing moments with Ana, from the devastating loss of Leila. From his own life.

As any good masochist would admit, there was a strange satisfying sensation to knowing the things he found most soothing, were surely the sources of his deepest pain.

To arrive at the ED from the main entrance, he walked through the corridor commemorating the hospital's many benefactors, learned professors, heroes and heroines who'd come before. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with hardware celebrating a century of medical triumphs and tragedies—bronze acts and achievements of his colleagues and fellow doctors. Including his own:

— _ **The 2009 Seattle General Hospital Public Service Award honors Dr. Christian Grey, for his heroic acts on August 1, 2009 during the tragic friendly-fire bombing of the Doctors Without Borders hospital in Kunduz, Afghanistan. Dr. Grey marshaled the evacuation of 505 patients, including 59 children as well as their caretakers, and 80 fellow international medical staff to safety bunkers. Over thirty minutes of sustained bombing, he refused medical treatment in order to limit the suffering of others. As the building burned, Dr. Grey saved countless lives and minimized casualties. —**_

" _ **FIRST DO NO HARM"**_

He'd refused to participate in memorializing farce with its puffed up adulation. Hell, he tried to keep his name off the plaque. He was pretty sure SGH didn't want to include his net figures. Lives saved, lives killed.

Christian only noticed he had stopped and was staring at his plaque, when his breath fogged the glass. The plaque was tucked in among an armful of other awards he'd earned in his tenure, for outstanding achievement in anatomy, physiology, and clinical teaching.

The trip to Susannah's and the off-putting soldiers outside stirred images that he didn't want to think about yet, like the smell of death and wet fire, charred bodies and the copper taste in his mouth. He fought to replace those memories with Ana's taste, even though it had only been minutes since he held her face in his hands. It didn't work, and even as he tried to collect himself, he'd managed to turn Ana's naked pleas in the closet to let her in… _Christ,_ he'd twisted them into pleas to rescue her, to save her life. His skin itched, and his soul ached.

There was plenty of time to deal with that later. His brother approached from his left. _Thank God for that._

* * *

"Christian! Where were you?" Elliot greeted him with a quick bro hug and a searching smile. He glanced into the trophy case where Christian's focus had been. "You alright? Dad said you called about needing a lawyer." They walked together down to Emergency.

Christian always had a complex reaction to his older brother. An envy sometimes slid into his thoughts. Their abused beginnings were both worthy of Copperfield, but neither dwelled long on those days when they were together, not really. Christian's deferment to Elliot Grey was more shame and avoidance. As though Christian's presence and his needs were disruptors to Elliot and his remarkable life.

They got along well enough. Familiarity and social constructs they'd learned over their lives kept them marginally close. Both would admit that their efforts to be brothers and engage one another were worth it. Together with Felix Ramal, the three of them formed a tight triad of medicine, charity and women for at least the past decade.

The charity had its benefits—high stakes in a dangerous place, unfathomable risks, adrenaline by the pint. They played God among the chaos and an unspoken brotherhood took root. These were seductive advantages, available in four, six and eight week doses, malaria vaccines optional.

The human costs were more severe. Many physicians kept their distance, opting to stick to vaccinations and education programs. The doctors who volunteered for the war zones, the endless bloody and internecine conflicts, dealt with a deeper level of dread and helplessness. There was isolation and loneliness on an existential scale, and Elliot served daily witness to sub-human horror and evil.

The escapism and danger wore on him the most. He'd been born into a life with its own subdued demons. There were raw moments between them over the years, that Christian could read in his brother's eyes, his body language. Prior to MSF, psychology had never appealed to Elliot in medical school; but after Afghanistan, he tracked toward Psychiatry and Neuropharmacology like a bear to honey.

He married Paige Okafor, a local artist, almost as soon as he'd met her—the first gorgeous, sexually alluring woman who could cook breakfast to his tastes. Their courtship lasted a New York minute before he whisked her off to Bora Bora for sea side nuptials and a hedonistic honeymoon in Sri Lanka, punctuated with 30,000 HPV vaccinations for the local children.

With Elliot's departure from their clan, Felix and Christian began to indulge their more… imaginative fantasies with women. If Elliot was aware, he never let on. It only added to the artificial chasm between them. At one point, Christian had resented Elliot's apparent interference. He sensed Elliot was always trying to improve him, share his latest secrets to a better life. Christian enjoyed his life and its private dalliances, until Anastasia Steele appeared and flipped everything.

Christian may have longed to be closer, to be a true brother, to be an embedded part of Elliot's domestic tranquility, but he'd never act on it. He was too controlled to admit it, even to himself. Maybe Elliot already knew, could understand his brother's distance as fear, or self-loathing, or punishment. Maybe it was Elliot who knew Christian, in a way Christian would never explore. Until Susannah wound up dead on the hospital campus.

Today, Christian welcomed Elliot's warm smile, a permanent half-grin that said, _it's never as bad as you think._ Even now at 35, he got away with his "What Me Worry?" demeanor and shaggy blond hair that appealed to everyone. His deep blue eyes and premature wrinkles—consequence of his decades spent ascending and descending Mt. Ranier—only added to his rugged good looks.

These two men represented the bright future of the hospital. Both were dedicated and thoughtful physicians. Every ounce of respect they got from their colleagues and support staff was returned with equanimity. Their presence, even on weekends, was so routine, it was almost expected. The chaotic scenes in the emergency areas where actually calming for the brothers.

Today was no different. They found themselves surrounded in a controlled frenzy. All the rooms were full and the waiting areas were stuffed. Christian played a little game with himself looking out among those awaiting treatment or diagnoses. _Why are they here?_ He noticed two groups in particular. The first to catch his eye was a pair of newlyweds—he could tell—sitting together. Swollen, red, but happy. _Food poisoning, most likely._ Across from them was an Indian family, dressed in festive clothes, looking anxiously on while the grandfather—yes, he was the patriarch—sat peacefully in his wheelchair. They've been here before, Christian sensed, their anxiety was tempered and quiet. _Heart disease._

The brothers got waters and began their catch up.

"Leila's dead," Christian announced. Elliot nodded solemnly. "Died last night. I spent the morning with Seattle PD." He rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his head. Elliot waited and listened for sometime. Christian scanned the admittance list for… a distraction. The silence stretched while the two brothers stood with their hands on their hips, as though exhausted from some strenuous activity. Their perpendicular stance to one another spoke volumes.

"Does this relate to your private affairs?" Elliot whipsered, in no direction in particular.

 _Private affairs? Fuck my life._ Christian ignored him, peering over the call roster. "Who's D-I-C (doctor in charge) today?"

"Dante's pulling a double this weekend, his wife's pissed. Marlene is trauma RN. Fuck the schedule, what's going on with you? The police were at your apartment?"

"Yes. They've connected Leila and Susannah. That's some sick fucker out there, I know it." He looked at his brother for the first time. "I'm nervous Elliot." Elliot nodded for Christian to continue.

"Susannah and Leila were both mine. I… " There are others, he thought to himself. He eyes drifted to the patients awaiting treatment.

"Do the police think you're involved?"

"I am involved! That's the point."

"What are you talking about? Do the police have a suspect? Do you know them? What did dad say? What does he think?"

"Nothing. He left a voicemail. I'm thinking of doing something stupid."

Elliot sneared, "What would you do?"

"There's too much at stake here for my private life to get paraded about." Although Christian had fantasized about tarnishing his own image, the hospital and MSF were too important. He felt shame and duty at once. "Fuck!"

Elliot waited.

"Look, I want all of this to go away." Christian held his brother's gaze. "That came out wrong." Elliot leaned back and crossed his arms. "Fuck, of course I want Susannah's murderer apprehended. But you have to agree, this has the potential to generate terrible publicity for the hospital and the charity."

"Christian, what did dad say?" Elliot soothed. He was a small light in the dark storm churning inside his brother. Christian needed guidance, a little tenderness. His own thoughts were so grim. Susannah's dead body very likely left the morgue to make room for Leila's. Their dad couldn't help today, but Elliot's concern was calming.

Christian replayed his father's voicemail. " _Your brother told me that you worked with the dead girl in the news. I'm very sorry. Why were you calling? I thought you'd be at MSF meeting. Let's speak tomorrow at dinner?"_

His eyes had settled on the old Indian man from earlier, the one in the wheel chair. Something was askew, Christian twisted his chin in consideration, as the man leaned to his left and awkwardly folded his arms up under his chin.

"Marlene, where's Dante!" He called to the desk attendant and stared at the ill man.

"What is it doctor?" He missed her motions to the curtained rooms behind him, at the north end of the department. He didn't bother looking.

Instead, Christian moved. "He's in cardiac arrest!" He leapt the first bank of chairs and reached the old man at the same time a male trauma nurse swooped in. In no time, the man was laid out and life saving measures commenced. Christian did (something) for the man. Elliot comforted the wife, and described the unfolding rescue to the distraught family around him. The flurry of activity died down once a gurney arrived, and the brothers moved away.

Christian smirked at Elliot as he readjusted his shirt and combed a hand along his scalp. "I bet my pulse didn't reach 85." He scowled then, as he was flooded with images of Ana. She was restrained and slumped in a wheelchair, head lolled back, slipping away from him. That ticked his pulse up. He deliberately focused on the medical staff in front of him, that were now administering to the patient. How bizarre, he tried to mollify himself, but he knew. He fucking knew how he felt about her.

To make room for the gurney, Christian and his brother stepped back toward the main desk. He struck a familiar posture in order to center his unexpected emotions over Ana's imagined demise. She's fine, she's safe, he told himself as he shook off the pretty girl in his head.

"Christian, man, how did you know?" He chuckled. "You're making a habit of this." His brother clapped his shoulder. Christian moved back, to shrug off the inference, and Elliot's smile faded.

Elliot was referring to his MSF poster boy status. The hero doctor. _One long giant suck to the monument. It was endless._ Christian grew angry. Maybe he was doomed, to spend his life polishing the statue.

"What were we talking about, Elliot?" He lowered his voice around a throat clearing cough. _Fuck this, there were a dozen people who could have helped that man._ He didn't want to think about the life he'd just saved.

"Christian?" Elliot stared at him. Time passed and their moods shifted, along with the power dynamics. "You saved that man's life."

Christian grimaced, and several more beats passed. "It's a hospital." He shrugged. "Tell me about the Borders meeting. Who's this new asshole?"

"We'll get to that. What happened this morning, with the police?" The look Christian gave his brother was priceless. They didn't need words to communicate. Gorgeous women. Submissives. Murder. Alibis. Secrets. "Do the cops think you murdered Leila and Dr. Roberts?"

"I don't know. Probably. It's not an unreasonable conclusion."

Elliot was perplexed. "It's ludacris Christian, what did dad say?"

"Nothing." He sucked on his teeth and stared across the large open room. "He left a voicemail." He moved on. "Listen, what did you guys discuss at the meeting? I saw Felix briefly."

"Dad didn't say anything? Shit, you must have told him squat." Elliot tucked his chin and waited to cool off. "Fuck you, Christian. I called and texted this morning because I was worried. You never miss these meetings, and you've just laid some heavy facts on me. You're going with _nothing_? To me?"

Christian stared down his brother down. It was funny and serious.

Elliot caved first. "Fine, then. Alright?" It was more a reassurance to himself, because he was probably thinking, based on past experience, that there might not be a later when it came to his brother divulging anything.

"The meeting. Taylor has everything under control. Felix will circle around to you after he gets the timetables and logistics sorted. Now, Senator Wyatt, he was a trip, Christian. You missed some performance. He had no clue what we were talking about, but he chipped in like he was the rich asshole bankrolling us, annoying little shit. He wants you. Tried to hold up the meeting, waiting on you."

"I bet Felix loved that."

"True. Felix was put out. I think Wyatt has the hots for you." Christian crossed his arms as he rolled his eyes. "Come on, he's a fan." Elliot laughed. "He was very enthusiastic about meeting you. He wore a toupee for Christ's sake, which would be a first for an MSF volunteer. Right?" He checked his phone. "That man seems grossly unqualified to be a sitting senator. He's got one thing going for him…"

"What's that?"

"He's one lucky son of a bitch. Didn't even have to campaign for his seat, he just got appointed."

"Fucking politicians." They agreed. Christian slipped into his thoughts again, and the Senator's interest in him. Was it his public image that Wyatt was curious about? His poster boy status?

Was Ana attracted to his good looks, or did they turn her off? All the time they'd spent together, he felt that she found his celebrity distasteful. She certainly made it clear she wasn't impressed with his reputation. Why did she want him? What could she possibly see? That he was a wealthy good looking asshole with an attitude to match? She wanted nothing to do with that. He'd noticed the way she recoiled when Felix pointed out Senator Wyatt earlier. She was completely non-plussed. That drew a smile from him.

Christian and Elliot spoke informally for a few more minutes, and made vague plans to meet for a therapy session come Monday, if their scheduled matched. If he felt guilty for his prickly brush off—which he did, or course he did—he didn't let his brother see it. He trudged down the hall toward the equipment elevator that led to the morgue, to visit Leila one last time, privately. In a sterile emotionless place.

He didn't get far, when he heard the rush of static above him when the paging system came to life. Before he could listen, he heard his name being called. He turned to see a flush Dante, the attending MD, jogging toward him with his phone to his ear.

* * *

"Grey, we have a six year old boy in flight with severe trauma, suspected AAA (abdominal aortic aneurysm)." The aorta is the main artery in the body, starting in the heart and extending down the abdomen. He immediately understood it was a complicated surgery, with indeterminate blood loss. The proper anesthetic setting was vital for survival.

Christian stopped and listened. Dante relayed a few more details, patient's BP and heart rate.

"Fuck!" Christian pulled his phone out. And moved. When the Operating Room answered, he asked for the ready room. He waited ten seconds for the anesthesia tech, enough time to formulate his plan, set the table for the operating surgeon—most likely Dr. Powers—and shift into his zone, his hospital Dom.

He couldn't help his smirk. Hospital Dom, as Felix dubbed it, was a habit from his residency—an after effect from Afghanistan, when he'd lost control and terrible things happened. People died. He was still severely affected, when he let himself.

Instead, Christian studied and practiced his mastery and control, his authority and command. He excelled at this calculated, methodical approach—to save patients from the monster he held at bay, merely an arm's length away. It surfaced when the suffering was severe, and he worked hard to control it. His weekend routines usually helped. For a second, his mind twisted with memory and fatigue, from the days' events and his role, then he heard a familiar voice on the line, snapping him back.

"Dr. Grey?" It was Andrea, thank fuck.

"Andrea, we have a little boy to save." He shot off his anesthetic and instrument needs, a deliberate conversation not to be rushed. Mistakes in the tray were unforgivable. Next, he used the house phone to reach the on-call anesthesiologist, Dr. Najib Goodloe, and presented the case. They spent less than two minutes making a plan, and Christian would accompany the patient down from the landing pad on the roof.

He headed upstairs to wait for the little boy and then scrub in. There was a flurry of activity around him as the hospital became aware of the severe injuries and young age of their Level 1 Trauma case Although Christian's breathing actually slowed and his pulse never quickened.

Emergency was his next call, to confirm Powers was en route, and his ETA. Up on the roof, he greeted Dante again, who confirmed the patient was on oxygen, and the helicopter nurses had begun the two IVs Dr. Grey requested and a portable monitor was attached. Christian processed a new wrinkle. The kid had been mildly sedated on site in order to transport him.

He called Andrea back, concerned about the meds and the acute nature of the boy's bleeding he'd just confirmed, and to assure that the blood was ready from the blood bank. "I want both arms out. And don't waste a goddamn second on any arterial lines or CVPs when he gets here. Get him in the OR. Tell them now. Tell the nurses to prep for a stat cesarean, got it?" He tried to help, it was the closest set up for the emergency procedure.

When the helicopter team lifted the patient down, Christian got his first look at the dying boy, and he recalibrated, reaching for his walkie talkie. "It's grave Goodloe. Tell them. He's stuporous and moaning. BP and heart rate the same. He appears in shock, a coma seems imminent. Apparently, a statue fell on him at the zoo."

He hung on a moment longer, eyes closed, feeling the rain soak his shirt. "We've got to save this kid, Najib."

"See you at the sink." Goodloe replied. Grey's phone buzzed, Powers was in the building. That was Christian's cue to change and scrub in.

He rode the elevator with Dante, the incapacitated boy and his mother. He introduced himself by his first name, "I've been called the Sandman you know, because I can put anyone into a deep sleep." He smiled peacefully and rested is hand on the boy's head.

"He's Zachary," his mom choked.

Christian met the boy's glazed-over eyes with his own. His stare was a promise. It was a promise to the dying child to see him again, for their eyes to seek each other out in recovery… or in a far off place much further away, a lifetime from now. "You're going to be alright."

Down at the sinks, an image of Ana distracted him. It happened when he'd shed his clothes. His white shirt balled up in his hand revealed blood, and his steps stuttered. Until he realized it was her lip pen that rubbed off. The one she'd used to invade his personal space, where she'd tattooed his torso with her name. He looked down his body. Her inscription looked more like a toddler's drawing now, than a declaration of her affections. A surprising fission passed from his chest out to the tips of his limbs and back. He rubbed over his heart, then finished his prep.

The smiling eyes of the scrub nurse greeted his, and he thought of Ana again. Outside against the building, her swollen mouth thoroughly kissed, her pretty eyes capturing color as the sun broke through the rain clouds. _She's a distracting little thing._ He pushed her easily out of his mind.

Once in the operating theater minutes passed, but for Christian time didn't move. He was in slow motion. He was ready, his team assembled, his sterile tools laid out—his mies en place, he called it. The noise and din of the space were drowned out by his focus. His hands crossed in front of him, he exhaled deeply once, straightening himself and meditating on the procedure's complicated prep and sedation. The steps passed through his mind from memory, like a downhill racer seeing his line before the start.

Scanning the faces of his team, he said, "Remember, we're fighting a ninety percent death rate. One in four ruptures into the peritoneal cavity. The kid survived to get to _**us**_. Be ready," he intoned.

Quietly, almost like a prayer, he added, "It's a precious thing to have people trust you with their child's life."

Suddenly, it began. Dr. Powers and his surgical staff entered to be gowned, and little Zachary floated in from the side doors. He was carefully transferred to the operating table as the attending rehearsed the situation. Even Christian's calculated calm couldn't block out the sounds of the surprised gasps of the OR team. In aortic aneurysm cases, a patient can bleed to death very quickly. Sometimes in minutes, sometimes in the time it takes the surgeon to cross from one side of the room to the other. Until the chest and abdomen cavities are open, it's difficult the judge the severity of the aortic bruising and tears, impossible to stop the damage.

Someone sighed, "I don't know if this kid is going to make it."

"Get him out." Christian barked at a nurse tech. And he began. He ran a rapid sequence induction with a cocktail of drugs. Goodloe intubated. Grey dosed a fat IV for amnesia.

In minutes, Dr. Powers made his incisions, opened the chest cavity and clamped the aorta. He'd made an educated guess, because there hadn't been time for X-ray. It was a smart move. They bought themselves two minutes maybe three to locate the tears. However the blood was lower in the abdomen. Christian's mind knew the next steps, monitor BP and start a volume resuscitation with O-neg. Goodloe placed a radial arterial line and sent a blood gas. Christian added echo to monitor the volume of the left chamber of the heart. Then he took a breath.

Powers hesitated. "I don't like the blood here. Let's clamp the proximal aorta to control the bleed." Andrea confirmed cardiac function and started the acid-base status.

Lungs. Christian considered adding a pulmonary artery catheter as quickly as possible, but stopped. The abdomen was flooded. Something… The color was off. Powers was looking at him… Lost.

"The liver!" Christian yelled. "Must be crushed. Move. Now Powers, move." In seconds, which was all they had, the entire team shifted, and a new flurry began. There were only moments left, then the boy's luck would run out. Powers and his capable team pinpointed the location of the liver injury, its severity, how much to remove, and how much to stent or "clot off" to stem the bleeding.

Christian started to sequence a lung catheter to get the right resistance data, and he prayed. Prayed they'd caught it. All their preparations, the wise and swift movements from the helicopter team, to the coordination in the ER, to incision, and Zachary might simply bleed to death. He gritted his teeth and stared into Andrea's eyes.

"Success!" The word echoed off the OR walls precious seconds later, and the collective energy of the team lifted.

"Parker." It was an instruction. Andrea nodded and commenced the next steps in the team's anesthetic care plan.

"Two lives in one day doctor. It's been a while, hasn't it, Dr. Grey?" She meant the old man in the ER and now this little boy.

In active war zones, saving lives was routine within Doctors Without Borders, but it was never celebrated, because it was always weighed against a sliding scale of death. He didn't need this shit.

It was a hospital. He simply viewed the controlled chaos as the best field of play for easing pain and saving life. "It was teamwork. We got him to OR fast. We gave ourselves time to improvise. Anyone—"

"That's bullshit Grey, and you know it." Dr. Powers spit out from under his mask. "No one makes that call. Who diagnoses a liver injury with this kid's presentation? Upper aortic rupture from blunt trauma? The clamping worked. With the lights and our goggles, no way anyone reads that blood the way you did. Give yourself some credit, doctor. It's remarkable. You saved his life."

Christian nodded to him, and disengaged. _Fucking Powers and his bullshit._ His eyes gave away nothing. There were at least another ninety minutes of surgery, and the boy was out of danger. He turned to Dr. Goodloe and Nurse Parker with instructions, "ICU, sedated and ventilated." He nodded to them and rotated himself out of the OR.

He was reeling. Today's blows had broken him. The lows of Leila's death, the interrogation, the highs of Ana's embrace. They were nothing compared to saving Zachary. He could never verbalize this kind of trauma. A dying kid to rescue. Christian smelled his flesh, heard the boy's heart. He'd breathed for him. For a fleeting moment, that was a wonderfully gratifying feeling, but it was also the worst feeling in the world.

He pushed in the door to the ladies' toilet at the left end of the floor, it was closest. He locked it behind him and turned off the lights.

He was exhausted and ashamed. His head pounded with percussive throbs. Relief couldn't come fast enough. Relief from the sickening, narcissistic self-congratulating discussions around these life saving charades. He'd put a kid to sleep and stuck around to watch the effects. Maybe he even envied the effects.

In less time than it took most men to take a leak, he'd recovered the small pouch hidden behind his knee. His movements were so well-choreographed, he appeared poetic. Shifting hands, he set his phone on his left thigh and started the timer for a minute and a half. Ninety seconds. In ninety seconds he'd have his release. He laid his right foot across his knee, then dosed a syringe with propofol and exposed his ankle. Sixty seconds to go.

A prick and a push. Forty-five seconds. That's all he needed, and then—

It worked, slowing his heart, numbing his nerves. Thank fuck, his grip on consciousness loosened. Just as he slumped back, wedging himself to remain upright, between the handicapped handle bar and the toilet tank, his phone lit up. _Ana_

 _Time's up doctor ;) Headed to lounge. Meet u there_

"Fuck!"

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing.**


	9. Chapter 9 White Awake

_I broke this chapter in two, because I like were it ended. I'll post again tomorrow. Please enjoy! xoxo_

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 9 - White Awake**

Saturday, August 5th

Dr. Ramal's piercing jade eyes were trained on the back side of a sexy brunette. One Ana Steele, the doe-eyed sexpot who'd been stapled behind Christian's arm in the parking lot. She was in the doctor's lounge now, along the wall of lockers. Her back was to him, while she stood on her tip toes looking at something, legs flexed, her tight perky ass outlined in her dark denim. Felix crossed his arms and leaned into the door frame, as he observed undetected.

"Find anything?" Ana jumped back.

"You startled… you scared me." Ana looked over to see Felix rubbing his five o'clock shadow with his long olive-skinned fingers. "Dr. Ramal, right?" She smiled innocently.

"Yes." He didn't move, but instead stared past her. "Is that Grey's locker?"

She nodded. "I'm waiting on Christian, er Dr. Grey. He's meeting me here."

"Actually… you're not meeting him. He's in surgery."

She swiveled to face him straight on, curious. "Surgery?"

"Yes." His scrutinized her when she shook her head.

"He didn't text me."

"It was an emergency." He half-shrugged. "A little boy." He pushed off the doorframe and approached her as she checked her phone, not stopping until he was right next to her.

"How do you know?" Ana asked.

"I know a lot of things." He said matter of factly.

"Emergency surgery." She sagged and leaned back. "I've been waiting a while."

"That's unfortunate." He rested his arm beside her, and leaned against the locker. "You know how it is with us surgeons." His smirk was too familiar.

Ana shivered, then straightened up. "I thought you left. When we were in the parking lot—"

He cut in before she finished. "I came back." In the silence that followed, they could both think about why. His stare had faded into something else, and his pale eyes grew dark. His jaw ticked as his eyes swept over her body. He let a low conceited laugh escape. With his free arm, he reached past her to slam Christian's locker closed, effectively caging her against the lockers. Her eyes whipped to his. "How do you know Christian?"

Ana slowly shook her head. "We live in the same building."

"Hmm." He weighed this, and his brow wrinkled. "That's surprising. He's never mentioned you."

"My father lived there before, I'm living in his apartment." She wiped across her hips, to calm her fidgeting. "I moved in two months ago right after he passed away." Felix's tall frame towered over her while he took in her explanation.

"Yess. Right… Anastasia… Christian did mention you." He narrowed his eyes, and his scowl offered an intense sympathy. "And your trouble sleeping."

She had to look away, her response a whisper. "Yes."

He took a step back, giving Ana space to collect herself.

"You can call me Felix, since we both know Christian. I'm sorry about your dad." Ana nodded, and swallowed forcefully. Suddenly, the hem of her sweatshirt was very interesting.

Felix tilted his head and rubbed his hand along his stubbled face. "Has Christian discussed _our_ history?"

"No, he hasn't." She edged away from him.

"We're very close, he and I. He's like a brother." He sighed. "Ana. May I call you Ana?" She nodded even as he followed her. "August is tough on Christian. There are a lot of difficult… memories around… his past." Ana worried her lip and looked everywhere but in Felix's direction. "Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Ana could only shake her head. His intensity was unnerving.

"It's not my place to share his secrets, is it?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't want you to—"

"Is that so?" he interrupted.

This pause was the longest, and Ana fidgeted, lost for words. "Look, I should tell you—"

"You _do_ look familiar." There was sincerity in his tone.

Ana tried on a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I get that a lot. People are always saying I look like their cousin, or do I have a sister, maybe they met her." He dismissed her perky reply.

"You don't remind me of my family. I mean, I'm not picturing relatives when I look at you." His devilish features gave his words deeper meaning. He knew what he was doing,egging her on, to keep her off-balance.

Ana finally moved away, and gathered her bag and drink from the table in front of them. "Did Christian say when he'd be finished?"

Felix turned around, then paused to look out the window. The sun was finally setting "Noo, he didn't. Tell me again, why are you waiting here for him?"

"Oh, um… no reason. We were just—" was he going to let her complete any thoughts?

"Christian is a remarkable person, Ana. He means a great deal to a lot people. Even though he's lived a complicated life, he deserves every measure of the peace he's not yet found."

He let that sink in as he rounded on her again. "Nothing would bring me more joy than for him to find…" he weighed his words, "what he's looking for." He punctuated the end with more smirking.

"And what is that doctor?" Ana smiled with curiosity. Felix laughed.

"Ana, Ana. Why don't you tell me? You're obviously looking for something too." He waited until he'd caught her eyes, then his drifted to the bank of lockers where he'd found her.

"No, Felix. I'm not. I'm…" she sighed. "I like Christian, very much."

"Really? Good for you. I think I've made it clear that I do too." He approached her, until they were so close, she could reach out to touch him. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for him. Do you understand?" He tucked her loose hair behind her ear. Ana bristled at the contact, and winced away.

"I think I do. He's lucky to have you." She tried grinning, but swallowed it down when his frosty face didn't respond.

"Yes, it's luck." His face morphed into an open mouthed smile and he bit his tongue.

Ana stared, then blinked away… something. "You now what? I think I'm going to go back up to my department, and wait for Christian there. I forgot that I was in the middle of charts when I came down," she checked her phone and nodded, "almost an hour ago." She moved toward the door and turned the handle down to go, but Felix wasn't finished.

"How'd you do it?"

She froze. "What?" She gawked at him wide-eyed over her shoulder, committed to leave, but completely thrown.

His look was something far more serious, something dangerous. "Get over your insomnia? I'm curious." He furrowed his brows, and shrugged. "Sleep doctor that I am."

"Oh, I—" His chirping phone drew her attention to his pants pocket. He pulled it out, his stare boring into her.

"Speak of the devil." He looked like a devil. Relief couldn't come fast enough for Ana, if it meant being able to look anywhere but into Felix Ramal's mesmerizing eyes. "Christian, hi. I found Ana. She's on her way back up to Rehab."

* * *

Fucking Felix Ramal saved his ass again. He'd called on the heels of Ana's countdown text and Christian fumbled with his device.

After mumbling some incoherent plea for Felix to find Ana, Christian gave in to the milk, and drifted. His mind flickered—to little Zachary, to Leila, to a giddy Ana lying beneath him, then flashed to war's smoke, and the acrid smell of death. He saw Ana again, with a devious grin, holding up his dead sub's phone. He winced a final time, then his body began its surrender. He slouched a bit, and a mantra wormed its way into his ear. **I want to be faceless. And bodiless. And left alone.**

He descended in a cloud of calm, where a flood of liquid sleep coursed through his veins, and wound it's way up to his cerebral cortex, numbing his emotions, and any real pain or visceral reaction he could hardly have mustered anyway. In that moment, he became what he desperately wanted, and he dreamt.

Even through his drug haze, it wasn't the dying boy's life his thoughts sought to flee. It was her. Everywhere her. What was the point of fighting if he'd already lost? He'd kissed her over and over, he'd already lost nights' worth of sleep worrying about whether she was still breathing.

His eyelids twitched leaving his senses to respond to the liquid pools of neon pink lights. One hand rose to rub his chest. His mind followed the light. 'Where's your lip liner Ana? You want to scribble on me more? Do you want to rewrite me?'

She was with him now. Smiling, she asked if he wanted her luscious lips on him. He did, of course he did. He had a hard time imagining why he existed if not to hold her lips to his. 'I want it Ana. I want to keep in the pocket of my crisp white lab coat.' As he slumped down more, Ana receded and he found himself alone.

Christian dreamt of a wide meadow, full of yellow and gold grasses as far as he could see. The area was bright and crisp, he was bouyed by an aura of sunshine. He wasn't alone, though. A cool shadow caressed his back, and guided him forward. His eyes found Ana then, far far away, across a wide stretch of grass, beyond a lull of dunes between the plains. He made his way over. It was a long disjointed slog, through patients and illness. Distant guns fired and the grasses grew drier and drier as he approached her. She stood in the center of a massive circle of weeds, and when he got close, the tallest grass sparked against his fingertips.

She was beautiful, dressed for summer, in a pale billowy dress that matched her skin, it was August after all. Her long dark hair was lifted by the wind and made her look all the more ideal. The grass behind him had begun to smolder, but nonetheless he reached her safely. When he placed his hand on her pale shoulder, the whole meadow ignited.

Her warm flesh, now secure under his touch, heated up and began to bubble and crack. No longer pink, her ivory innocence drained away. She was burning. Acrid smoke swirled up in waves, and Christian fought against inhaling. Even though it had a pleasing taste to him, like asparagus and butter, it turned rancid, and he swallowed molten pennies. His throat burned and she reached for him. He wanted to smile at her gesture, but her hands were nothing more than flames, licking his sides, his forearms. He wanted to scream away the pain, but his voice was lost to the smoke. With his hands, he brushed back the burning embers and smoke from her face.

Ana was frightened, and she mouthed a plea to him. The flames roared and the grass burned, and he couldn't hear her. His eyes were tearing, his lashes clouded and he couldn't read her lips. Those gorgeous lips, her pretty pink lips were transformed into waxy red blisters. The rest of her body was dark and fragile, broken and bleeding, simmering near death.

Christian drew in a huge breath, fighting the smoke and the hot pain in his throat. With all his strength he blew across her face. And blew. His breath was calm and soothing, her breathing steadied as he puffed over her whole body. As he exhaled, he noticed little pieces of her charred flesh cooled into ash and floated away. Ana moaned in relief, and it felt good. He exhaled again, around her pretty face, and the burnt skin, the haunting smell of her, it dissipated into the black cloud around him. He did this, exhaling and blowing, deep full breathes, all over her body. He pushed all his air out, until he felt his core contract, and his stomach pressed into his spine. All the ugliness, the charred remains wafted away, carried off out into the deepest part of his dream.

Everywhere remained Ana. His beautiful girl. He laughed at her renewed form, and tugged on her hair. It was streaked and blond, from where the heaviest flames had singed her scalp.

He didn't care, and from her smiling nod, she didn't notice. Her haunting eyes were looking into him, in the most peaceful way. They were warm deep blue, almost green, yet focused only on him, his own body, his torso. When she lifted her hands now, it was to caress him—not hurt him, not burn or scar.

He looked down to his waist, where she touched him, only to find he had the same creased burning flesh as she. Ana collapsed down to her knees, and strummed her lips across his waist, where she wound her hands around him. She hummed quietly as she rubbed and pressed and rubbed and pressed, kneading out his own burns. All the while, her eyes smiled up to him, returning the affirmations he'd been whispering to her. 'It's going to be alright. You'll be okay. Don't worry, I've got you now. I've got you.' He let a ghost of a smile invade his mouth, and he watched Ana's lip slide under her teeth. _Yes. Yes._

He looked down to his own flesh underneath her fingers, and closed his mouth on a moan. His own scars were still there, circling around his torso like a fire snake. With Ana beside him, they seemed smaller, infinitely smaller.

He felt his own eyes well up, when he took Ana's hands in his own. He had to examine her nails. He whimpered at how clean they were, not jagged and bloodied. Not caked with his own skin, where she'd clawed at him to make the pain stop. She did not have his blood on her hands, or under her nails, where she begged him to douse the flames. They were clean.

Christian leaned down and brought her cool body against his, and it was amazing. She smelled amazing. Like heaven and home and forgiveness and acceptance. And he was a young man again. He felt it, his heart open up. An unburdening. A freeing. With Ana. It was true.

Was it a confession he'd offered, or was it hers he'd received? He couldn't know. How could he? He'd been blind and unable to hear. But he could feel, and that was everything. She was everything. Unburdened from the suffering form he found at first, at one edge of the meadow, Ana finally brought her tiny hands around him and help him tight. 'I've got you. It's okay. You're alright.' He fell over into numbness and everything went white.

* * *

Christian woke with cotton mouth, a strange shrinking sensation and his hand gripping his dick. To get his bearings, he sat still for a minute, and shook the tunnel vision from his head. He rubbed the kink out of his neck and scooted forward. His phone and paraphernalia clattered to the bathroom floor where he stood, and he cursed himself for getting worked up over Dr. Powers and his pathetic hero worship. _Goddamned right I saved that kid. He needed saving._ As he lifted his phone he saw a new text from Ana.

— _Felix rescued me. Thx I guess. Come find me. I'm waiting for you and thinking about you and dreaming and fantasizing and missing you. Well ALL the verbs really lol—A_

 _Ana._ She'd added several kissing signs.

The flutter in his head was back, echoed in the hollow hunger in his chest. It coursed down and out, through his body faster than his eyes could focus on the debris at his feet. He looked at the drug vial, his habit, and found a clarity in the jumbled heap. He didn't need them. He didn't. His lips lifted in sardonic irony as he rolled this revelation around in his mind.

When Ana's ill-timed text had arrived earlier, reminding him he was due to meet her, all he thought was why the fuck had he dosed himself up on fucking Diprivan, when what he really wanted was her? Just Ana.

She could've made him feel better. She did make him feel better. He felt it then, a new twist, when his heart beat vibrated into his teeth and fingers. His hands curled to release the tingle. He craved this feeling more than the numbing effects from the drugs.

For a moment before that milk had taken over, he'd wanted to cut his ankle off to prevent the ooze's kick. But it was too late, and before he could regret it, he was out. Now. Now, he could regret it. It was only an hour or so, but he felt her draw.

Thank God Ramal called before he checked out entirely. Christian had no coherent recall of what he'd said to Felix, but he was pretty sure he mumbled out something about finding Ana. Blondes, he reminded himself. Felix has a taste for blondes, which gave him a modicum of relief, but then he remembered it was Ana, his—fucking—perfect—Ana. That prick better have taken care of her, without dumping his Dom act on her, or his sleep study bullshit. _Ana sleeps with me. What?_ Yes… that was a good thought.

The implications in her new message now—that she pictured them _together_ —was enough to stem his regret. His thumb hovered over his phone, although he couldn't put a decent idea together yet, much less type it out. He needed to walk off this afterbuzz.

But first, he had to get rid of his shit. Bent over, Christian collected the evidence of his habit off the floor, the syringe, his bag and the rest of it, and pushed it into the bio-hazard bin next to the toilet. The tape, where he'd attached the secret sack to his knee, caught on his knuckles and he had to wiggle it off. Shaking his hand like he had a polaroid, he grimaced. How fitting, he thought, it won't let me go.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing. It means so much that you are sharing this journey with me.


	10. Chapter 10 Small Progress

_Enjoy :) xoxo_

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 10 - Small Progress**

Saturday, August 5th

Christian washed up at the sink in the ladies' room, avoiding his depleted reflection in the mirror. In the stillness of the empty operating wing, he reconsidered his dreary day. Ana and Zachary were foremost on his mind, but a small piece of a larger puzzle played over in an unrelenting, disturbing loop. If Leila and Susannah's deaths were connected, and like the police, Christian had reason to believe they were, then it was significant that someone knew he was involved again with Leila. Who was that person? He and Leila had agreed to tell no one, even Felix.

His thinking went—apart from Krystal, who knew he and Leila were playing again? Krystal wasn't talking, and no one could get to her, of that he was certain. So, who knew about Leila and how? He'd think about it tomorrow, somewhat mollified to identify what had bothered him about the interrogation.

After he washed up, he moved back down the hall to the only busy OR. Feeling no urge to scrub back in, he motioned through the observation panel and got Andrea's attention long enough to exchange an update. Copacetic? Good. That was a good.

Down at the cafeteria, he grabbed a banana and drank a cup of barley soup, aware that a crowd was gathering in the northwest corner. The boy's family had turned up, waiting for their young son to finish and release into post-op. Christian recognized Zachary's mom immediately, and felt himself lurch toward them when a young man, obviously an older brother—a man the boy might one day look like should he manage to recover—found his eyes.

Dr. Grey, board-certified anesthesiologist, sub-specialist—yea, he smirked—in critical care, pain, palliative, pediatric and sleep medicines, straightened himself up and approached the pensive family. They numbered at least a dozen or so. He relaxed into his poster boy charm, tempered a bit (appropriate to the circumstance), and greeted them. The learned doctor was here to calm and soothe. He played the part for them, a necessary step in their own recovery from their loved-one's near death experience.

Christian's uniform made them think he might be that prick Powers, and they were ready to absorb his every word. He understood how non-medical people looked at medical people. He gave them the comfort they sought, and the speech. His own finely honed speech, developed over years of dealing with these people, all about connecting and how he was Zachary's voice and his body, and all of the bullshit the families needed to hear.

"I'm not going to lie. This is a long recovery, and there are more surgeries down the road," he new it by heart. To his credit, he took his time, explaining the nature of the traumas and what the team had done to help Zachary. "I'll be here, every time. You have my word."

He left out the heartbreaking realities, that the chances of survival were slim to none. He left out the pain management aspects—which was really the whole fucking point, wasn't it? How Christian's control, his aptitude to read 'the when' when it counted, was really the most important actor in the day's drama. They didn't need that shit. They wanted reassurance and a God-like demeanor.

His false charms and good looks were assets, and they served to ease the family's anxieties, even as he suppressed an eye roll when the obviously single aunt sought to touch him. He held her off with a head bob. An older woman, clearly hurting, with puffy eyes and a wet kleenex, rose out of her slouch to hug his waist, and he was moved. He let her hold him tight, because that's what she needed. He gave all of it to them, and when he finally rounded away toward the elevator banks, toward Ana and her sweet mouth, he found that the lackadaisical after effects from the propofol where gone.

* * *

She was alone, and on her phone. Of course, her fucking phone. He tsked himself. How could an inanimate object warrant this visceral reaction from him? But it did.

He was dealing with larger emotions, though, like how the massive adrenaline kick from seeing her excited him. Astute clinician that he was, he was quickly learning his default settings around her were simple arousal at best, delirium at its worst. However, this new feeling, centered around her attachment to that goddamned phone, was unexpected and unfamiliar.

He paused to let it dribble out, and reset himself. Not for too long though, or he might slip back into his heavy thoughts. He couldn't do that. Not when Ana was a few yards away, scribbling furiously while she listened to some jackass on her phone. What is she writing so furiously? Apparently, the new emotion around her phone, wasn't so easy to shake off, so he hung back for another minute.

This had been an epic day for him. Hell, for anyone. It felt like crisis in combat. He woke up to an animal in his bed, as cute as she was, Sophie was an animal. _Cute?_ _Jesus, Ana in my bed tonight sounds anything but cute._ His body hummed with anticipation. And shit, he might as well start taping his cock to his leg around her. He adjusted himself again.

Almost as soon as he'd woken up, he was accused of murder—a man who would end his former paramours—in cold blood. Though this morning, he was cast in the role of villain, for once over something he hadn't done—well, most likely hadn't done.

He still had to face the facts that he'd inhaled a fist full of ambien and opioids the nights both women died. He had no memory of actual events, but plenty of scenarios played out in his fractured mind, and he'd examine each of them in time. Later. His brother Elliot appeared to care and, given his zigzagging emotions over Leila and Ana, Christian was prepared to listen to a psychiatrist for once.

He wanted the day to end. He wanted Zachary to wake up and high five him, he wanted Ana to lie down and fuck him. _Nice, asshole!_

He never expected Ana to lie to the cops and offer him a false alibi. He hoped like hell he didn't need it. And she didn't need either for that matter. He felt cherished by her generosity. From there, he gave up trying to make sense of what happened in his apartment. She bathed in his shower, drew on his body and spread her creamy thighs across his lap. She wanted him. The fucking release he got from kissing her, and feeling her up. He was a lucky bastard.

His skin flickered in skepticism for a brief moment. This is real, this isn't some sick twisted treatment of Felix's. It wasn't some set up from The Drone, some new fucked-up punishment for taking Krystal from that other fucker. Maybe he was still high, but it was pretty fucked up to think Ana's kisses were manufactured. _She's real and she's mine. Soon, she'll be mine soon._

Ana, there she stood, a woman he'd known for about as long as he'd known Krystal, and yet her effects on him were immeasurable—even though Krystal was the woman who'd begun his current transformation. Even though he accepted he was the only one to notice, as isolated as he was. Maybe Leila sensed it over the past few weeks. She had told him she missed him recently.

 _Fuck! How could I have forgotten?_ It was Krystal who sent him Leila, he was sure of it. If he read the letters he found at Susannah's, or looked at the zip drive nestled in the envelope, the contents would confirm that Krystal was looking out for him, even as she tore herself apart. Four women in his mind at once. It had been this way for over two months. How had he not realized? _His control was slipping away before he even met Ana's big blue eyes…_

Enough. He'd turn over 'the when' of all these developments later. Right now, he had to center his mind on Zachary's pending post-op status, and connecting to the beautiful woman in front of him.

On her phone from hell. It was a goddamn appendage at this point.

He moved his body slightly to his left, behind a supply chest, to keep his presence secret a little longer. Was he watching women now? _I'm waiting on her—all these fucking changes. Ramal would laugh his ass off if he saw me here lurking over a sub_ —he meant Ana. Felix was the watcher. _Not me._ He threw off his overindulged id, and walked through the entrance to her unit. Enter her unit. He still could made himself laugh, that was a good thing too.

He overheard her saying, "You're wrong, you know that?" She was agitated, even pissed and defiant-sounding. He could see her posture deflate as she mumbled something slowly. It sounded like, "I don't even believe that." He crossed over to a bank of cabinets where her purse sat. She hadn't seen him yet, so he just took her in and hummed his appreciation. He must have been noisy, because she turned around quickly and broke into a dazzling grin, just for him.

But she kept up with the damn phone. She didn't end the fucking call. She listened, and nodded to some asshole on the other end who couldn't even see her pretty face.

Christian skin heated so he looked away, anywhere but at her face. Her body, her skinny legs, on down to the formless objects on her feet. They looked like something we'd toss in the dishwasher when they got dirty. The dishwasher made him smile like an idiot.

She finally wrapped up. "Thank you Vincent. I'll be back later tonight. I don't know when, so don't bother asking me, okay? Okay. Bye." She huffed out an exhausted expression. _Vincent, from Escala?_ He's sharing her with that dickless concierge now? What's that noise? He'd analyze it later, because right now. Right now the room crackled with electricity and heat and want, and goddamn his walls tumbled at the sight of her big blue eyes, and her shiny lips.

Neither approached the other, the distance between them was too thick to cross. Instead she turned her head down to move some hair behind her ear. It was a submissive move, and one his body invited, but he held his position, leaning against the counter. He motioned toward her phone. "Vincent?"

She nodded, "That was Vincent, at Escala. I made arrangements for him to walk Sophie for me." Did Vincent work 24/7? Christian acknowledged her, and wondered if the police had talked to building staff. "You look exhausted," she noted.

He bit on his cheek at that. He didn't give a shit, he was over this phone bullshit. And if she thought some cute little exchange with Vincent was helping her, it did just the opposite.

Long, fat pregnant moments passed. They stood and took each other in.

Christian engaged first. "That phone has been your constant companion today, and don't tell me you've been exchanging pet tips with Vincent the whole fucking time. If I weren't so confident in my hold over you, I'd be upset." He was upset. "Now tell me, who—"

"You were very good downstairs just now, with that family." _Oh?_ "I saw you, when I went to fetch a water." She blushed, "I heard your voice. You were all in expert doctor mode, so I slid behind a column and listened. Sorry." _She thinks I'm different with her._ Christian remained quiet, taking it in.

"Seeing you in these scrubs," she raked his body and swallowed hard, "talking to those hurting people. Your sincerity. How you told them that you were going to learn all their names, and be there from the beginning to the end." Her affection carried through the air. "Even how you let that grabby woman hug you, when I know you didn't want to." He went to interrupt her. "I saw you wince. Dont' excuse it. Not to me, anyway. I saw how uncomfortable she made you. Christian, it made me want to slip in between the two of you, but I knew you wouldn't want that."

His voice was gone, so he coughed over his emotion. "I may have. I may have wanted that."

"Well, I'll just have to show up again… The thing is, doctor," she worried her lip,"I didn't just want to protect you from her. I didn't want her hands on you. At all." It sounded like… "I have my own designs on your body." He laughed away the butterflies her declaration stirred.

"Ana Steele, you're a flirt. And you're jealous."

She smirked at that and wiggled her phone at him. "You're jealous."

"I am." Her expression encouraged him to elaborate, like she wasn't buying his two word confession that easily.

"You admit you're jealous?"

"Hell yes, I'm jealous!" Then he shut up. He found that statement was true, and he smiled, momentarily surprised. A normal vice—jealousy. _What's wrong with me? I'm happy I'm jealous? She's doing this on purpose._

"Yes Ana, and you're not talking about it is killing me. The texts, all that shit in the R8, that wasn't about your dog. You can't begin to imagine the thoughts going on in my head. What I'm thinking about you and that phone." Clamps, punishments. He'd crash her fucking phone's memory card snapping lewd picture after picture of her naked, trussed and blindfolded, as he stuffed himself down her throat, her wax-coated fingers squeezing him, trying to stop his swollen cock from gagging her—

"They were from my bo—my boyfriend."

 _Boyfriend?!_ He couldn't even see straight at this point. With more fucking control than he possibly ever had in his fucking goddamn fucking life, he merely raised his eyebrows.

"I meant my ex-boyfriend." She apologized.

"Really?" somehow snuck out through his clenched mouth.

"Really."

"His name?"

"Whyyyyyy do you want to know that?" Her playful whine, damn woman. And that lilt did things to him. Made him think of doing sweet, sensual things to her, so she'd make that noise again. His cock ached for her. The fucking scrubs were no camouflage, he adjusted himself a-gain.

"The asshole who you used to…" No, don't think about it. "Fuck, it's a normal question, Ana. You and I are becoming… involved. You, you know the names of the women I've…" he looked down, "spent time with."

"Ha! Barely. I would like to believe there have only been the three. Three?" She demonstrated and offered a speculative look.

Shit, she had a point. "Nevermind. Look, your ex, what does he want?"

"Nothing." He waited. She squirmed. "There's some stuff going on where I used to live."

 _Finally_ , he thought. "And where is that?" He crossed over, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her temple, holding her against him. His relief and arousal fought for his voice.

Her head sing-songed in delay. "I really don't want to get into it."

He only half-listened. His jealousy and desire for her notwithstanding—and to complicate things even more—he found he was thrilled with this conversation. Obviously, the fucker wasn't with her now. And Christian was making plans to end his miserable life if he ever ran into him.

All that didn't matter, though. Christian was shocked to be discussing something so ordinary as a former partner. _Former implied current_ , as in himself. But he wouldn't let her get off that easy. His body tingled at those simple words, get off.

"You don't want to get into it? Interesting. I remember offering the same denial to you a few hours ago, and it was met with a grope and a moan against my ear." He pressed into her, it felt so good.

"Stop that, and why don't you park your butt in my massage chair doctor. I'm an expert at groping and moaning. I know how to relax you." She _was_ an expert at him, already. This woman. Her blush was sweet, and her insistence that she take care of him, was so unusual, so fantastically foreign, he wanted to bathe in it, and end it at the same time. He was overwhelmed.

"Ana, you have no idea." He bit her chin resting his teeth on her jaw for too long, then licked up her neck, she was intoxicating. So completely bewitching, he'd forgotten she sounded upset when he'd arrived. It was she who needed relaxing.

She took his hands in hers to move. "Come, I'll work the kinks out of your shoulders. And stop with all your sexiness, Doctor Smooth. I'm serious." She giggled when he pulled her back.

"I was just confirming your blush, Ana. I don't want a massage." _Hands, remember?_ "You can talk to me, about… him… I know I'm difficult. I heard what you said before about not being available. I'm a good listener, it comes with the job. I want to hear you discuss your life." _I crave it._ "You're the most fascinating person I know, and yet I know next to nothing about you. Except that you have excellent penmanship." He smiled down to his chest, where she'd tattooed herself, then back at her.

She stared at him rubbing her tongue between her teeth. When she started talking again, her eyes went straight to their laced hands. She spoke so quickly, like someone had released a balloon and all the air sputtered out. "His name is Mark Barstow. We owned our apartment together, and now we're having trouble with a tenant, he's ex-military. He keeps slipping through our fingers and we can't seem to get him to pay."

"Thank fuck."

"What?"

"You told me something." He kissed Ana's hands, then brought them to his shoulders. "But I don't want you to talk about that asshole now."

"Okay." Her eyes signaled her enthusiasm, and she gripped his neck.

"And not Vincent, your dog handler." _He wants in your panties, baby._ He kissed her senseless, savoring the fussing mewls he ignited in the back of her throat.

He paused mid-nibble when it hit him. _'Our apartment?' She'd lived with him? That meant lots of fucking._ He scowled at her, but felt guilty about it, which was small progress.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, things are about to heat up for couple.**

 **But first, I wanted to set Christian up as complicated but qualified in many many ways. He has his demons, but he's aware. If he is to see Ana as a redemptive figure, there must be something to redeem him from. Frankly, being an amazing Dom, having subs... there's nothing remotely wrong with that, so it's not really a flaw. His darkness comes from other... well, we'll just have to find out won't we ;)**

 **And there is the matter of those pesky dead paramours. We'll get there. Love the feedback and reviews.**

 **Update again on Tuesday. It's written, just want to break up these long chapters. They're hard to edit and I don't want to miss any mistakes. xoxo**

 **Thank you for reading and reviewing. Are you on Facebook? Head over the the Playroom of the FSOG Sisterhood.**


	11. Chp 11 You Could Sink a Thousand Ships

_Enjoy :) xoxo_

 _Next update will be next week sometime. Halloween weekend is pretty big here. I've pre-written everything, so it won't be long. But I just love these two so much, and when I get into revising, I find new ways to go, and then, well you know how it is LOL I don't want to miss anything and suspense is new for me, and well... they just have so much to express to each other. As a relief, this day is almost over. The rest of the story will have a more regular cadence as far as days go. I wanted to construct an incredible out of the ordinary day for these two... So the suspense would remain static, but their affection would really develop in a bubble. He also needed an immediate hit of Miss Steele to see how truly unnecessary that bit of dosing actually was. xoxo okay, sorry for the interruption._

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 11 - You Could Sink A Thousand Ships**

 _Saturday, August 5th_

Christian pulled Ana from her work station, tempted by all his impure thoughts, to take a seat on one of the massage tables. He was still waiting for Powers to call the surgery, he might as well indulge in more Ana, since there was time. Not because he couldn't keep his hands off her, he smiled to himself. She reluctantly moved from her desk and allowed him to lead her, hand in hand. He pulled her down to sit across his lap and resumed feasting on her face.

"Mmmmm. Wait… why were you in the cafeteria anyway? Are you done? I thought you were in surgery. Is it over? Is that little boy okay?"

"I was. And it's not." He pressed his head against hers, so sweet. "Zachary may never be all right. Blunt force trauma to his torso really tore him up. There's an anesthesia team that shares responsibilities in surgery. I'm not required presently, but I'm in touch should any crises arise." He presented a different phone from his pocket than the one Ana'd seen before. She nodded. "I'll manage the post-op plan with Dr. Goodloe when they page me. You and I can have some time together before I go back." And we've only just begun.

He moved down to resume kissing her, but she pulled her head back and looked up to him with a skeptical pout.

"What is it, ba… Ana?" He cupped her face and kissed her pale freckles.

"Nothing. I don't know."

"Tell me." She held so much back.

"Just, now see? Does it totally hurt to talk about yourself? I want to know you." Touche, Miss Steele.

"It's been a day, Ana. One day. You sat through that surreal questioning this morning. I let you sit on my lap and draw on me." He skimmed his thumb over her the soft hairs of her eye brow, absorbing her shapes and curves. "We almost…" _fucked, he thought to himself "_ kissed in my former sub's home." Downplaying their earlier tryst, their illicit groping at Susannah's, was wise he thought. Even acknowledging their physical connection was risky, considering her perch atop him and his growing comfort with her center hovering over his.

They were caught in the same slack waves from before—that memory in Susannah's closet and already worn a deep groove in his mind, it would loop on his highlight reel forever. Her eager noises, her angled body, pressed entirely against his in the dark—and he knew she wanted to explore the tactile sides of whatever the fuck this was as much as he did.

The timing though. He had to take care of Zachary. If she kept pushing, he'd take control. But for now, her fresh innocence was okay. He'd give her this much. "I think I've been pretty revealing, Ana, don't you agree?"

She ignored his argument. "That meant more than kissing, and you know it." He sucked in her upper lip and moaned his approval. She was right there where he was, in those mind-blowing moments. He could hear it under her breath, between her words.

"Yes, I do." He leaned back on his hands, shaking his head. "Then what is it? What do you want?"

"I don't know. I want to hear more about you. You don't tell me very many things about you."

He leaned forward to thread his fingers through her hair and pull her completely into his arms. She must have had the same idea, because she stood up quickly only to plop back down straddling him. His flimsy cotton scrubs offered little protection against her very near core. The seams of her fucking blue jeans reminded him she was safe. For the moment.

"You want my secrets, Ana?" She nodded, her head resting against his. This playful attitude of hers was everything. It made him want to share. "I don't know. I like an extra shot of espresso in my flat white each morning. But that's really personal," he mumbled into her, then nuzzled her neck. "A dark secret." She hummed, his nose tickling her ear.

He felt her swallow. "Flat white? Nothing dark about that, doctor. Except…" she twisted until her lips were snug against his ear, she circled it without touching him. He inhaled a bit longer, her closeness enervating and repulsing him. "Flat… Dr. Grey?" She pulled away. An eye brow arched as she lowered her eye lids to peer at her own cleavage.

She's the world's sexiest teddy bear—so fucking hot. And she was driving him crazy, imagining what lay under her frumpy grey sweatshirt. He nearly groaned just thinking about it. Where her nipples light pink? Or dark salmon? He knew already how sensitive they were. Moments passed and they didn't say anything. As his libido behaved his smile faded, and he noticed she kept her intense blue eyes on him in a less lustful scrutiny. "What is it?"

"You can't get off that easy. You still haven't told me anything." More talking?

"And I may not. My past is fucking awful, what's the point? I like this. Being around you." He squeezed her hips down on him, a small relief. "The more you know. The less likely _this_ will happen."

"You don't know that."

"I don't?" He kissed her hard. "Maybe you don't know it, but I do." Her eyes pled for more, they were going to end him.

"You're a beautiful man, Christian Grey and I want to know everything." She was so naive, and gentle. He wanted to give over to her, and let her entertain her fantasies of—

 _Dammit!_ He could practically hear her mind ticking. This couldn't be good, he didn't like where her thoughts were headed. Not yet, delay these goddamn heart to hearts.

"You don't want my shit in your head. Call it distance, baggage, whatever. It's mine, and I'll do my best to keep it from you. Especially you."

She shrugged. Her eyes were slaked with lust as she studied him, and she played with the short hair at his nape. As she rocked back and forth, Christian grew impatient. This vixen needs a lesson.

"I'm not an experiment, Ana." He stifled a laugh. _There was no way, no fucking way._

"I know that. I like _you_. How real you are…"

"If you're formulating some sort of hypothesis for us, I can write it for you. I will fucking hurt you."

"Christian."

"I don't know why. I don't know how. I just will."

"Then I'm going to need lots of aftercare, doctor." She grinded on him. Un-fucking-believable. He groaned, and bucked up to meet her. In a flurry, she was pinned below him. Minutes passed as their bodies and faces pressed together in a horizontal dance. Her delicate fingers massaged his scalp and he teased her back, thrusting into her in time with her sweet little sounds.

Ana paused to breath, while he propped himself on his elbows. "Do you think you'll always be this way?"

"Irresistibly good looking and sexy?"

Her giggle travelled her entire length. "That's a given. I mean so distant and morose on yourself?"

"Around you, Ana, I don't feel the distance." He let that settle over both of them. It was true, he didn't feel separate. "And that… This—I'm happy about this. But I will drag you down. Make no mistake." He regretted it the moment he said it.

He hadn't meant it to come out as a threat, but her grip over him relaxed incrementally, and it felt like a cold chill in his heart. They were both so worked up and panting, why had he said that? Fuck, he wanted the last six seconds back. "Ana" Her eyes flashed to glaze over with emotion.

"Then what are you doing? Why are you here right now? Or, or, or why am I here? You got rid of me. I was outside." She shoved on his shoulders. "You blocked me."

He didn't deny her, but he didn't answer at first. "It was a form of self-preservation, I guess."

She slid her legs together beneath him in her own form of protection, her own reaction. Yet his reaction took him somewhere else. The awkwardness, the strangeness of their limbs shifting against each other was enticing, but very alien. He started to shut down, to dislodge her from the well of emotions inside him. Was he shifting to a place of control? Her loud voice shocked him back to right on top of her.

"You guess!" She huffed. "What the hell does that mean?"

He had no answers. He didn't understand it himself. His disbelief stemmed from his control. The more control he had, the more he understood and could predict outcomes, of any kind.

The problem with control though, was Christian's methods left him in a singularly lonely place, most of his waking life.

Ana represented the antithesis to his control. By any measure. Especially her capacity to attach to him emotionally. He simply assumed at some point, he'd seize it back, the control.

As with any hypothesis, he would try to predict the outcome: _His control would hurt her. His need to control his own emotions and control those of others, would ultimately devastate her, which would in turn destroy him._

He wanted to mention this irony to her—a concession of his character—that his methods to protect himself, were most likely the exact methods that would hurt her. It was recursive. He couldn't escape that theme anywhere in his fucking life.

"Ana—"

She hit his hand away, "So, so what are you saying? Being with me is masochistic?"

 _Yes._ "No—" she interrupted him and barreled on.

"I thought you just dealt with masochistic subs."

He had her pinned instantly, unable to move. "What the fuck are you talking about? Who told you that?"

She sniffed and her eyes fluttered closed—was she surrendering? The tiny well of tears in her lashes released from the corners of her eyes, trickling down into her scalp, and her tender vulnerability froze him. Fuck, he didn't want to upset her. Christ, he needed to leave her be. Given that they were lying like lovers together on the massage table, any move he made to release her would feel like rejection, and he sensed that was the last thing he should be doing. The last thing he wanted to do.

He let go of her wrist with a squeeze and smudged off the line of trailing tears. He sucked on his own wet thumb, an intimacy he'd fantasized about since he first saw her crying so many days ago.

* * *

Ana shook her head below him. "No one told me that. You just said you're going to hurt me. Do you want to hurt me? Like on purpose?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and paused. He'd already begun to hurt her. It was obvious. He kissed away the remaining tears ebbing down her temples, and licked the salt from his lips. She quickly wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and whispered into his ear.

"I don't understand Christian." Her pain evident. "Please explain. I'm just trying to understand you."

"It's simple." His sorry grey eyes pinned Ana's. "I like control."

"It's hardly simple. And you can't just say _'I like control_.'"

"I can. I like control—"

"Well, for someone so troubled by freedom—"

"You're right… There's nothing more erotic than women who willingly give up theirs."

She looked away on a shiver. Her forehead wrinkled as she considered this. "Is that what you want?" Her intensity caught him off guard. She was stunning.

He closed his eyes momentarily and exhaled a long breath. "To just be myself Ana, I have to be less free." There, he revealed a significant piece of himself to her. What would she make of his confession, who he admitted he was?

Her next question surprised him—as though she was conceding his entire private world, his freedom versus his control. "But you clearly have a type. That's part of it, right?"

"A type?"

"I look like them. Your dead girlfriends." He pictured Leila's frozen face on the slab, several floors below. Ana's hand brushed him back when he moved to gather her long hair again. She gave a quick peck to his knuckles as consolation.

"Yes, you do. I won't deny it… But it's more than your physicality that calls to me, Ana. Once I give in to thinking about you, letting my mind… imagine. Not control it. You transform to me. You become a vision. You become something I never knew I needed, but I don't want to be without." She shifted to kiss him again, but he cut her off.

"And that surprises me. You surprise me. I think because I have a new awareness of everything that came before."

"It's hard to believe you." She whispered so low, he wasn't sure he was meant to hear her. As she spread her legs for him and shifted back, he felt her hands move behind him, and her thumbs dig inside his pants where she held onto his waist band. "What if I looked different? Would you still want to be with me?" She was so vulnerable, so absolutely his in that moment.

The intercom overhead crackled to life, and he used the distracting moment to crush himself on top of her. _This sweet girl, how the fuck will I break her?_ He knew he would. If he could only decipher how, they might have a chance. If he could somehow—manage away her pain over his fucked up life, because he knew she'd absorb it. _Just listen to her now for Christ's sake. How many times in one day can she bare herself and beg you to just be with her?_ He kissed her head and just held on. Let all the bullshit around him fall away, let her step in, and heal him. She wanted that, he felt the energy of recovery around them, like a heavy blanket. He felt love. And loved.

When it was quiet again, he told her. "You're beautiful Anastasia. I don't think I had a perspective on all the… ugliness I've witnessed, created." All the dead women. "I've seen life move into death, a pulse taper into the void. I've held death in my hands." He paused, thinking of his drug-induced dream earlier.

"I've seen some amazing acts Ana, and I have a memory of what is possible. Maybe that's what's sustained me all this time. It's as though I had to endure these horrific… events, to recognize the prettiest ones. I've never seen anything like you, Ana. I've never seen anything as beautiful as **you**. All that came before—that ugliness—I needed it to recognize **you**."

He caressed her cheek and chuckled at her gawking. Her lashes were moister now, and threatened more tears. He blew to release them, to move away their distortion.

"Although your eyes. I'll admit, they are sooo beautiful, like icebergs. The kind that glow blue from within. You could sink a thousand ships with those eyes."

"Okay." She beamed at his compliment, "okay."

He smiled his brilliant smile, and Ana melted. He was that good. But she frowned for a moment, then licked her lips and paused. "I don't ever want to stop kissing you. Can you diagnose that?" He didn't any more encouragement.

"Then don't angel, because I feel it too." The joy that coiled in his chest was so satisfying. He held her head below him, and tenderly rocked into her, over and over, as he explored her mouth, and she his. She tasted fresh and sweet, and her lips were so soft.

His mouth brushed back and forth across her lips as he waited to take in this magnificent exchange. "My diagnosis?" He paused, and reached beneath them to pull her ass into him further, the seam of her jeans was small relief for his painful need. "I agree Ana." His own swollen lips nudged her jawline and kissed her chin. "I think diagnostically, whatever you're doing," he kissed her forehead and rubbed his mouth down the length of her face. His nose trailed further and he painted her collarbone with his lips, all at the same time trying to center himself. "I think… you should not change… whatever the hell you're doing to me, because I like the results… Very much."

They didn't speak for sometime, letting their bodies stroke and press. "Ahhh."

He pulled away again, with three words on the tip of his tongue. He couldn't tell her, not this soon. Not yet. Not now. Not with Goodloe's beeper in his pocket, Susannah's mail in his locker, and the police parked outside his home.

He had a desperate need to tell her… something, though. As he held her head against his, their breathes co-mingled, he looked into her, searching her eyes for the same feelings of love. He smiled when it hit him.

"Ana," he breathed. "I never kissed them."

"Wha…" she caught her own breath, and a sly smile arched up in the edges of her mouth. Christian kissed each corner—one, two—before she could speak. "What do you mean? Surely—"

"The way we ran things, kissing, this kind of affection… It wasn't part of it. Never. Ana, kissing didn't fit with… It was a power exchange. I never kissed them."

"Never?" she whispered.

"Mm, maybe, once or twice. To shut them up, if I felt that—it needed to happen." She feathered her fingers over his lips, to confirm what he said was true.

"Never?" He tone was full of hope and doubt.

"No, Ana. It's been… almost ten years since I've given into emotion like this. I mean, it's never been like this. Never." He bit the pads of her fingers as she strummed his mouth, humming around them. "I've never allowed myself to feel this kind of affection from anyone. Never wanted it. Until you."

"But all those women. The subs. You're thirty-three. Why didn't you—"

"It's new, it's you Ana, only you."

* * *

She smiled and nodded. His control was gone, and he waited for her to make the next move. Then, like a cold bucket of water, her phone went off behind him, and his annoyed self was back. He lifted off her and accepted the medical circumstances that he'd been fighting in the back of his head the entire time he was making out with his de facto girlfriend at her work. Namely that Zachary was hardly out of the woods. Reality.

Standing up, he helped Ana rise as well. He crossed back to the main area to retrieve her purse and tucked it under his arm. It was so normal. He moved right back to her side. "Listen. I do have to wait out this boy's surgery, supervise his recovery, and guard against complications." He squeezed her wrist as he lifted her hand and turned it, putting the key to his fancy sports car in her palm. Visions of him sitting underneath her as she rode him and drove at the same time clouded his romantic intentions.

"Take my car home. I'll grab a ride, or take a car. Sophie probably needs put out, regardless of that fucker Vincent. Now, come." He handed her the purse, which she slung across her body, and they walked out together, his hand skated very low around the back of her hips, and he let it slide inside her jeans to find the soft skin at the sway in her back. He hummed when he pressed his middle finger down between her warm dimpled cheeks.

Ana stumbled, "Sophie who?"

He smacked his lips on her temple. "You're incredible, I needed the laugh."

When the elevator arrived, Ana looked confused but entered. "Christian, where are we going now?" He'd dazed her. Was she completely unaware he'd just handed her his car key?

"I'm walking you to the parking lot. I need you safe. Did you think I'd let you ride down by yourself?" She leaned into his concern, and he wanted to swing her body around to straddle his waist. "Fuck! I can't keep my hands to myself." He kissed her over and over as they descended. "Your lips are like…"

"I want this too, and more." She kissed him back with equal affection. It was an incredible feeling. "When will you finish?" She kissed. "I pictured us riding the elevator up together tonight." More kisses. "You know," she pouted instead, on this pause. "I might get lonely—"

 _The elevator. Leila_. Christian's libidinous visions were gone. _Leila_. No fucking way! No fucking way Ana was leaving the hospital without him tonight. What was he thinking?

"Dammit!" He held her shoulders while she pressed her nose into his chest. "Ana."

"What? What is it?" He bit his lip. This day—

He looked at her, and couldn't believe the words he was about to say. No. Not tonight, not with these spine-tingling currents circulating through him. "I don't know how late I'll be. Children… I mean… their recovery can be complicated. The poor kid lost a lot of blood, Ana, and his vitals have been shit. I need to stay…And I need to know you're safe and protected."

"Then I'll stay too." _And I need to be here solely for Zachary—you distract me._

"Alone."

"Oh." She frowned and her gorgeous blue eyes looked bigger. Just then, the doors opened onto the main lobby. "Are you sure?" She sucked in the corner of her lip, bright pink and wet and so swollen, and she shook her head no, her body swayed into his. She was so sexy, he wanted to smother her. Literally smother her, wrap her inside his limbs and never let her go.

 _Ana, I love you._

"Ana, you can't. I'm sor—I can't have you here. You're distracting. But I need you safe too. If anything were to happen to you, I don't know how I'd react. I need you safe, okay?" It was a form of apology, at least to him. He offered a contrite smile for spoiling the moment.

He paused, to give her a chance to get it. He wouldn't say more. He wouldn't apologize for doing his job. And he was slowly realizing her safety trumped his work, she was compromising him. That was dangerous, and his controlling nature meant she'd pay a high price if she interfered with his remaining patient tonight.

If he sent her home alone, it was also possible she would leave him alone, and that might be her best route to safety, and away from him. Shit, her fucking safety is all he could think about. He had to risk it, Zachary's life was in his hands. Or did he?

"Felix. Dr. Ramal can take you. He'll drive you home." It wasn't ideal, and Christian sure as hell didn't trust the fucker around Ana—her brunette hair notwithstanding—but under the circumstances… _Felix will most likely ogle her all night. Fucking creep._ As he pulled out his phone, he tucked her body into his and rested his chin on her head.

"He's still here?" She deflated against him, and stretched her taut body, her perky chest across his, where she reluctantly pressed the button back up to her floor. They began a more chaste ride back up to PM&R.

— _Ana needs a ride home, surgery not over. You can drive the R8—C_

 _Was he still here?_ "Fuck yes. I think he camps in that goddamn sleep clinic of his. He could have a hyperbaric chamber in there for all I know."

"You're funny, you know that?" She rolled her eyes and gave him back his key. "Fine, call Felix."

"It's done." There rode silently in an embrace.

"I didn't think you liked Dr. Felix." As she spoke, her jaw rubbed against his chest, while her hand clung to his shirt at his middle.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, when you introduced him to me earlier you practically stood in front of me."

"What do you mean? I was holding your hand." He was wasn't he?

"You were. And then you twisted my arm, and basically forced me to stand behind you." She filled her sigh with teasing laughter. "I thought you were marking your territory."

"Why would I mark—"

"And I liked it," she went on. "It was hot. I figured you just didn't want Felix to get too close to me."

"You think I'm hot?"

She slapped him and then winced. "I'm sorry. Yes, you're hot. But when I felt like you wanted to keep me from him, safe? Then, and like now? It's ah… very… um," She turned her chin up and looked into his face, "a satisfying feeling." She grinned.

"A satisfying feeling? That's not what I expected to hear from your mouth." He kissed her, and hummed his own satisfaction when she turned in his arms. "So I satisfy you?" He mouthed against her face. He couldn't help his smirk. He was flying.

"Christian, lets not get carried away. Not yet at least. I'm a complicated woman with many needs." _The fuck? She's the most alluring woman alive and she just challenged me to satisfy her?_

He wanted to speak, make some clever statement back. But she tied his tongue. His throat clenched in a self-preserving move—most likely to keep his heart from popping out. So he was stuck with his thoughts to himself. _I love her._

 _Elliot better fix this because I'm going to tear her apart if I don't figure this out._

"Stay with me… until you get paged?" Her eyes pleaded.

" _Ana."_ He pressed his himself into her middle.

She had no idea what he'd said. "Mmm. We can wait for your friend in my offices."

"My friend," he laughed.

"Mhmm… and I can give you that massage." She paused to gauge his reaction. "Don't give me that look. I will touch you, Christian. And you'll like it." She was laughing at him. She had no idea.

And maybe that was the whole point. She could love him back and accept him, and have no idea why. Could he give her that? He wanted to, more than anything.

The lift announced their arrival and they walked back into Rehab. The ward was utterly deserted, they were the only ones there. Christian couldn't avoid the voice in his head-it was the sound he heard. _Ana is going to touch me?_ If he didn't know any better, he'd think he'd dosed himself with more Propofol. He was in the twilight zone. He was living that dream. _And he was fucked._

She dimmed the lights and pointed to the massage chair under the far wall where the windows framed the dark wet night. He was doing this.

Ana advanced ahead of him, removing her sweatshirt, signaling she was serious. Her little cotton tee rose up around her middle, exposing her torso, the slender plain of ridges along her ribs, and the delicate feminine curves where her hips began their sexy flair. Christian saw her pale pink nails brush over the creamy skin there, and he tripped forward, biting his tongue in defeat. _So fucked._

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing. Did I say thank you? I really mean it :)**


	12. Chapter 12 You've Hurt Enough

_Again, not in medicine, I made it all up :) Also, not edited for grammar or continuity. LMAO I just wanted to type that. Please enjoy. It's perhaps my favorite Christian chapter so far._

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 12 — You've Hurt Enough**

 _Saturday, August 5_ _th_

"Please sit Dr. Grey." She touched him, pushing him gently toward the chair. Her fingers slid across his chest, maybe she coped a little squeeze. She cocked an eyebrow as her right hand slowed over his heart. She bit her bottom lip in concentration as she burrowed her fingers into his breast pocket. He froze momentarily as their eyes met.

"What's this?" she asked holding up the black tube. Caught—her lipliner. The embarrassment that crawled from behind his ears and bathed his cheeks in a bashful look of ironic shame, felt… great.

Ana shook her head. "If you wanted my makeup, if that's your thing, you could just ask doctor. You didn't have to lift it from my purse." She giggled.

 _This woman…_ "You're never off the phone, or I might have done that. Asked." That shut her up. She stared and considered. He gave her an expression that said, yes it means something to me. You mean something to me.

"You want a souvenir? You want to collect me trophies? Mementos?"

He took a step back. Fucking trophies and plaques and all that shit. Ana wasn't about that. Suddenly, her voice was not what he wanted.

This is why he had been so content to spend his time privately, buried in women, muffling their sighs, gagging their moans. Women say shit that gets you worked up. Why was he so conflicted?

"That's very kinky doctor, you're into mementos." Her voice dipped, right where he needed it. Ana would never play. Ever.

"I'm into you, Ana."

She had appeared ready to keep up this banter, but her expression shifted so quickly at the intimacy, he didn't get a chance to read it. She cleared her throat. "I think that's enough patient evaluation, don't you? I've wanted to do this since I first saw…" her hesitation drew his eyes to hers. He effected her, but she recovered quickly. "Since I first saw you. Met you. But I couldn't be with you then." He watched her skin flash with goosebumps, and he mulled mentioning it, then let it go. "And I know you must be completely exhausted."

Since she first saw me? That long? He thought to himself. July 7th, the day he met Ana. It did things to him to think she'd had thoughts of him since then. But a niggling voice in the back of his head had other ideas. More accusing and suspect. One sight of her ass where she bent over the chair, and any of his asinine theories evaporated.

She was adjusting the seat of the massage chair. He noted the red leather was dry and worn, cracked and fraying at the seams. On a swallow, Christian pictured a crowd of ill patients sliding in and out of that seat, turning themselves over to her for relief and renewal.

Ana eyeballed him, likely taking in his size to make adjustments, but Christian imagined she was eye fucking him. He sure was, that barely there top did nothing to hide her thin bra straps, or the palest pink skin exposed above her waist. He slid in next to her, rolling his thumbs over his fingertips to tamp out the electric impulses to whip her flimsy shirt over her head. Whipped—he groaned out loud.

"Just sit on the seat normally, and scooch forward until your pelvis hits the padding here," a small laugh escaped her mouth.

Christian let a wide smile spread across his face, as he held her eyes, never breaking contact and slowly slid into the seat.

He was't going to let Ana give him a massage. Some things were forever impossible. Christ, he barely touched his subs, like he'd give Ana free reign, let _her_ touch _him_. He bit the inside of his cheek when the vision of her doing exactly that, owning him, lying on top of him, straddling, writhing really, scraping her fingers down his body, it all flitted through his mind. When the pain in his cheek finally overruled his subversive thoughts, he relaxed… a bit.

A massage was out of the question because Ana was a bit like a bloodhound too. She seemed to work a sixth sense, an annoying in your face curiosity, that he was still trying to sort out. He hadn't seen her in a week, fuck he'd barely had time with her before that, and her mannerisms were still new to him. Like those fucking detectives this morning, she would want to dig if he offered her the slightest resistance, raise questions. And even worse—emote pity, cross boundaries over his scars, the horrible truth about what he had done. Damn psychobabble.

There were practical reasons too, beyond the psychological bullshit, to avoid the massage. Submitting, facedown in a goddamn massage chair, was one of them. Christian Grey practically kneeling? Not happening. How to let this wonderful, excited and energetic dynamo in on such a foregone certainty, without revealing too much of himself, or worse disappointing her—that called for a delicate touch. A proper read of his subject. His sexy as fuck subject, he grinned.

Fuck, just straddling the piece, reminded him of furniture from his 'torture chamber,' as Elliot described it. He winced off a deviant memory. Elliot wasn't the only one who called it that.

Ana hovered beside him and took a sharp breath, recognizing the serious shift in his expression.

He rubbed his hands along his thighs. Everything was wound tight, itching for release and contact with her. "Ana, I don't think—"

"Don't you get tired of saying my name? With that exasperated accent. _Ana._ Like I've just smudged lipstick all over your immaculate white coat— _Ana_." What did she mean by that? And didn't he dream of her saying exactly that?

I'm never tired. It's why I take all these drugs he admitted to himself. "Ana… Ana," he laughed when he caught himself, then yanked on her elbow swinging her around to him. With both her arms in his grip, he swiftly forced her on top of him. She slid between the headrest and Christian's body, straddling him where he sat. He straightened up and drew her wrists down, placing her hands on her thighs, then steepled his hands over her face, just below her cascading hair, as though clearing a wedding veil. His breath across her face sent a shiver over her. Slowly her lip disappeared at the same time her pale blue eyes shined with mischief. Ana Steele calmed him and aroused him at once. She knocked him down and rebuilt him with every snarky retort, every cock-eyed glance. Her eyes, though.

Speechless. He regarded her happy face and half-laughed, tilting his forehead into her chin. His mind pictured that day he first set eyes on her in this very room.

He stilled on his next thought. _I love you. I don't know why or how. I just do._ Then gazed at her innocent eyes, searching for an excuse. Ease her down.

"I'm a very disturbed man, Ana. I want you to remember that." Not ideal.

She brushed him off. "Mhm doctor. I hear you. You're a Jekyll and Hyde type? That's what you're telling me?"

Christian bit her ear as he nodded. She has no idea.

"I disagree." She twisted her head to brush his mouth with her own. "I think you might not always be toxic... Don't pawn me off yet. Please. I rather have your poison." She bit his lip, then licked her own. "I can wait chastely, or get an uber home."

"A beautiful single woman in an Uber is a problem for me. _You_ in an uber"— _ever_ he thought to himself—"is unacceptable."

"If you put it like that, how could I ever get into another Uber? You'll have to spend all your free time giving me rides." She wiggled her hips. His silent smile told her what he thought of her flirty ultimatum.

He angled his head to kiss her again. The slow, soft brush of his lips was in complete contrast to the scenarios she'd just planted. Beginning with here, in their current position, their naked slick bodies riding the cracked leather seat. Images of endless riding. He moaned his approval of her plans while their tongues danced and explored. And this connection was so packed with unspoken words, he pulled back and kissed her nose in surrender.

"I think you're avoiding my massage," her button nose scrunched up as if it was a terrible idea.

"I just don't need it. Although you're sweet to offer. Being an anesthesiologist, pain management goes with the territory, Ana. I ease pain the same as you."

"Nooo… You don't." She looked at him apologetically but went on. "What you do is transactional and calculating. What I do is intimate." He didn't want to hear that. He tensed. "It's intimate and close and real and I have to listen and feel the whole time."

"No," he shifted uncomfortably, he didn't want to listen.

"Christian, I want this with you. I want to touch you and feel with you. Come on, I'm already sitting on your lap. I drew on you. You obviously enjoyed it. What's the big difference?"

"I don't need it. I'm fine. I'm here with you, and you're right, I am letting you sit on my lap."

"Your terms, of course." She's pretty demanding, what does she expect?

"Yes, my terms. What is it? We're here together. It's what we both want."

"Why do I feel like I have a better change of really touching you Christian, if I'm hurting you?"

He didn't dare say Ana, he didn't dare breath right now. Because she was right. And he felt himself begin to recoil from her proximity. He tried to let his eyes convey what he couldn't admit. She rubbed across his stubble, and held his face in her hands, pressing her forehead into his.

When she looked up, he saw his own affection reflected in her eyes, his own wistful longing and need.

"What if…" She swallowed and her audible sigh was so sexy, so erotic, his control was teetering on oblivion. "Christian, what if you've hurt enough?"

Christian was overwhelmed by the truth in her words. He brought his hand up to Ana's chin and tilted it back to tease her lips with his. Her name ghosted from his breath in a reverent sigh. His tongue caressed hers over and over, finishing his complete seduction and utter surrender to her. He felt in that moment it was possible to make love to her from kissing alone.

Ana's tongue fluttered gently over his, and the softness of her lips, her sensual breathing coaxed more from him—it was so unexpected, her cooing sound—it urged him to need more. To crave things he never thought possible or could even imagine.

"Ana you are so breathtakingly beautiful. I don't deserve you. Ever." She whined against the corner of his mouth when he spoke. "But I think I need you, angel."

"Christian, don't stop. Kiss me again." And they were lost to each other. She hooked her arms under his shoulders, hands rubbing, nails scoring in an urgent sign language for more. His own hands held her pressed to him, as he leaned into her needing a deeper connection, needing to tell her this was so much more than his obvious arousal pressing into her core.

A sound like a twig breaking behind them brought them out of their haze.

"Goddamnit Ramal!" He said he was in the gym. Pervert. Christian moved his head in front of Ana's, to cover her flushed face and swollen mouth. He heard her lips smack in his ear, out of sight, as she purred her displeasure.

"I'm early, should I be sorry?" Neither answered him for some time.

"Hi Dr. Ramal," Slowly, Ana went to stand but Christian growled and his strong hands held her curved hips to him, where his scrubs met her wet seam.

"I need a minute," he whispered for her only. She wiggled on a sigh. His Dom eyes told her to sit still, although he really enjoyed her carefree movements.

Felix spoke next. "Actually, I'm not sorry." Christian caught his shocked expression where his eyes focused on their fabric clad union, with Ana perched atop his friend. "I can take a seat and just watch, maybe if you prefer a different ride later."

"Fuck off Felix. We'll be a minute, alright?"

 **xXx**

Ana and Christian trailed behind Felix, holding hands as they approached the elevator. Christian was elated, although he sensed a forlorn distance to Ana.

She squeeze his hand, "Dinner? What can I do? Can I reheat something?

"Thank you but, I'll be a while, Ana." She nodded.

"Fuck me, she cooks too?" Felix turned back to them in jest as he pressed the call button.

"Fuck off Felix."

Ana just laughed. She leaned up into his chest and pulled his face down to her by the collar of his shirt. She kissed his brazenly then bit his lip, before licking her own. Christian searched her eyes trying to read the message she was sending him.

"Be safe," he insisted. "Text me when you're safe and tucked in." She raised her eyebrows.

Christian turned to Felix as the elevator arrived and thanked him again for rescuing Ana, all the while staring at the vixen as she slipped into the car and turned to face him, zipping up her ugly sweatshirt.

Felix shrugged, "Just returning the favor, CG." Ana picked that moment to slowly flutter her lids over her dazzling eyes. A silent submission, a wordless promise, a carnal invitation signed with a final bite of her lip as the doors closed. His mouth still hung open seconds later. The day's over, my beauty is descending away with Fucking Felix and he just dropped a goddamn hydrogen bomb on me.

What the fuck? Returning the favor? Felix's words conjured up scenes from months ago. Dark and dirty scenes, stale smoke and vinyl music, submissive sex and kink and lust, they all flooded his mind in a rush of irritation and scandal. _Felix is comparing Ana to Krystal? To fucking Krystal? To what I did with Krystal Devine?_

 _—bzz—_ his in-house phone went off. With perfect timing, Dr. Grey got the last page of this marathon day. Zachary was ready to recover.

* * *

Zachary's post-op recovery proceeded routinely, and Christian felt his diagnostic instincts finally kick in better than he had all day. He was confident whatever future laid ahead for the small boy, he could take pride in today's outcome. He'd held up his end of the bargain. His earlier anxieties over Zachary's near-death experience was the culmination of the multiple dilemmas he had dealt with since he woke to stare down a pint-sized dog. He smiled in relief, and sent Andrea a message to remind him to visit Zachary tomorrow.

He had one more person to visit today, then he could shut down… he groaned. He could head home, leave behind all the drama and mystery of today. He admitted to himself that a flogger and the whipping bench might aid him in his lag down. However, if this day with Ana had any legs, he was going to have to give serious thought to how to rein in that part of his libido. That need.

But first, he changed back into his clothes in the doctor's lounge. He grabbed the envelopes and zip drive he'd retrieved from Susannah's. He'd review them later. It didn't really matter, because he was confident he knew the contents. He was marginally surprised that Leila had… later he'd ponder the implications later.

As he pulled the door to close his locker, he noticed his neat stash of Fentanyl patches, poking out of bandaid box. Normally he'd slip two into his back pocket before heading home on Saturdays. One for himself, and one for Leila… His submissive, whoever the fuck she was. Tonight though, he was done. He wanted clarity in his sleep, nightmares be damned. He'd kidnap Sophie if he had to, he wasn't going to sleep with the meds for now. He would dispose of them later. Not tonight.

 **xXx**

A recent renovation to the hospital's oldest wing included a perky sprucing to the former home of the medical college, in the basement of Seattle General. A collaboration, between Dr. Powers' wife, a descendant of an indigenous Pacific Northwest tribe, and a trendy pair of twin artists, left a disturbingly bright yellow path down the corridors to the morgue. Sunny tiles with a passably Moroccan theme lead to a starkly contrasted set of heavy grey steel doors. The setting created such a dissonance in Christian's head that he considered scrapping his visit altogether.

His conscience, and maybe a little longing, won out and kept him moving. If nothing more, he needed another fix of Leila—he'd yet to ponder that he would never see her again, look in her eyes… Later, he might imagine a world without Leila, much later. He stilled himself at the double doors and shook off the weird renewal vibe the installation was commissioned to create. There was nothing renewing about this visit.

Inside the morgue's dingy little vestibule—this alcove must have escaped the design makeover—sat a frumpy young woman, ostensibly known as the Body Greeter, but really, she volunteered for the late shift with the allowance that she be permitted to study night school online. Clarice, he remembered, a savant of some sort. Maybe Asperger's. By now, Christian barely noticed her purple-dyed head as she sang along to a Taylor Swift video playing over the security screens to her right. He scowled in her direction for good measure. It was a bizarre day that might never end.

A night janitor eyed him curiously, and smiled above hands propped on his mop handle. A small man from Korea whose jet dark hair swept up over his ears. Coupled with his overgrown eye brows, he looked like an imp. Like some eerie maitre'd. His smile, a polite acknowledgement, was ignorant to the conflicting feelings inside Christian. If he hadn't felt his life spinning into an abyss before, the macabre trip down here and this pair of creepy people left Christian untethered from his normal life. Was it ever normal to begin with?

 _Fuck it was cold._

He knew her drawer, 218. He'd asked the ME, Dr. Frost earlier. Leila Williams would only be here a few more hours now, then the funeral home was due to take her over, according to her family's wishes.

A swoosh and exhale were the only noises he registered as he unsealed Leila's temporary refrigerated casket. His hand gripped and unwrapped the metal handle several times while he gathered his will. As he slid out the narrow silver slab, a low mechanized whir of ball-bearings and reinforced stainless announced her. When the piece reached it's end, a dull thud bounced off the dozens of metal and stone surfaces throughout the empty and cavernous antiseptic space. _My Leila, he shuttered._

His first image was of her naked feet, perfect and pedicured, wearing a huge manilla tag and dull wax string. Then a starched white sheet, covering the heavier morgue body tarp below. Finally the impression of her face just below the white cloth filled his vision. He tugged the material down, to expose her head above the edge of the sheet.

Her sapphire blue eyes were closed, a relief. She was a sleeping beauty, lying in peaceful slumber. His nose itched at the stink of her, but he ignored it. Her skin and scalp were lovely, unmarred in any way by the examiner's autopsy. He need not look at her neck, to see the faded watermarks of his own thumb prints, or the tattoo she'd gotten in defiance.

His body, his mind, whatever was left of the soul he'd squandered, they were all hollow, and he finally relented. He gave in, and let himself bathe in the simple emptiness of her loss. He felt it hard. Grief. Tremendous, numbing grief that this daring, adventurous and mischievous partner of his was gone. Partner?

Leila's long brown hair was twisted to one side in a dirty ponytail. An imagined picture of his dead mother filtered through his concentrated denial. What he couldn't do for her, he'd not done for Leila either. He wiped his hands on his pants, then framed her face there under his shaking fingers, smoothing her wild hair back. With a few motions, her gorgeous hair was again sleek and tamed, no longer distracting from her perfect face, her exquisite bone structure and translucent skin. His ministrations didn't bring her smile back, or her silly crooked grins.

Suicide, or murder? Which hurt more? Which disastrous turn in her life twisted more deeply in his chest? "Does it matter?" He surprised himself, asking out loud. "I'll never see her again."

He raised the near side of the tarp to see her hand, expecting a bloody mess. There was none, just frigid green skin, the color reflected through the latex covering where the fluorescent bulbs above acted like a prism.

He slipped his hand in hers, threading her stiff fingers. They felt so brittle, frozen in place. He slumped down against the tray where she rested, and brought his mouth to the back of her hand. Then he kissed her, even though the rigor had set in a day before.

"I'm sorry Lee. I'm so fucking sorry." He tried imagining her smell, her fresh-washed goodness, her taste, over the oppressive odors of death and dismissal that swirled all around them.

In her own life, she was the opposite of everything he tried to be. And yet, she'd suffered for months to be with him. In the end, she admitted she missed him, and the terrible things he did to her. What demons had she been fighting, suffering through? He had never asked.

 _Tonight, she's no longer suffering._ If she'd lived, would she still be suffering? Why did she come see me last night? She had a long cardigan wrapped around her, and jeans and riding boots. What did she want me to know, that she couldn't tell me by text? Or voicemail? Or any of the other hundred fucking ways we kept in touch?

He squeezed her hand. He never really touched her, he admitted now.

With her dead hand still in his grip, entwined in his fingers, he moved the heavy latex back over, covering her. He looked away as her head darkened under the blanket's shadow. He wasn't ready to let go. With some effort, he worked her arm out from where it nestled against her body, and rubbed his cheek on the cold greying flesh of her wrist. Goodbye he mouthed, his salty wet lips whispering over her hand. Very gently, with a deliberate solemnity, he moved her hand back under the tarp, then he squeezed both her wrists one last time. More tears burned in his throat and he forced back a sob. He slid her lifeless body back into its recess and latched the access door, waiting for the seal to take.

On a heavy sigh he turned his body, simmering with a fucking rage he couldn't place. He turned from Leila and walked away, cursing his own life, his indifference, his distance, every choice he'd made that led to this void.

His very existence in Leila's life likely led to the end of hers, and he'd have to live with that finality.

Almost to the exit, he saw his own face reflected in the glass windows at the entrance. At the last second, he doubled back, and went through the same sterile process again, to have another moment with her, his Leila. This time, he took the small felt bag containing her possessions, stealing the last piece of Leila he could. Of course she didn't protest when he took these last objects from her. She never did. She never had.

* * *

His phone went off. Felix: _—She's home. R8 front left 2_ _nd_ _row, tread lightly with her… she's a mystery. We're even now. Favor returned_ _—_ A favor? How was Krystal Devine a fucking favor to Felix?

 _Flashback_

 _Memorial Day weekend_

"Why is she in here Felix? What do you think you're doing?" Christian slipped into the suite and closed the door gently.

Jefferson Airplane blared out from a speaker above the nearby bar, and the walls glowed deep orange reflecting the sunset in the huge windows. _What was that odor?_ Christian paused to take in his surroundings. The room smelled like lots of sex, the good kind—raw, and it was laced with another aroma, something he couldn't place. It'd come to him.

No surprise, Felix still wore his tux, although it was undone. He was sitting on the floor, propped up against the side of the bed. Behind him, lying on her stomach, was a lithe brunette in a black AP set and garters. Her skin was flawless and pale. She had a long torso and her hips curved into that shallow dip for his thumbs that Christian always looked for. She appeared very comfortable, maybe even resting. Her ass popped slightly at his voice. He glanced between her legs, only to find she was already wet, swollen.

What had gone on here? She wasn't part of Felix's usual MO, blond and bound. Christian smirked. Her hair was already drawn back, but her nail polish caught his attention. It was… a mess, haphazard and overdone. Gross and damaged, it covered more than her nails, it bled into the pink skin of her fingers.

"Who is she?" he asked. She rolled over to face him, present herself really, and Christian's heart stopped. She was simply breathtaking, equal parts innocent and aroused. From where he stood, he knew she would receive anything he'd want to give her, or take.

She was too made up though, too severely drawn for her pretty features, and her expression was banal, disinterested. Was she wearing a wig? Her eyes didn't reach his, as they shouldn't. Instead, they settled on his crotch where his trousers were pushed out.

"She's fuckhot Felix, but I was busy. You know this. I wasn't finished with Denise?"

"Daphne, you were fucking Daphne." _Yes… Daphne._ "Christian, this is Krystal. She's new. I found her upstairs, on one of the sets with Dior. She only does girls, but… if you'll allow a voyeur, you can have her." He smacked her ass and she writhed. "She's a virgin."

Christian's head fell back on a groan. "Felix, you brought me a virgin?" He didn't know what he thought of this. Christian's eyes were back to the apex of the girl's thighs as they rubbed back and forth. There was a shimmy to her skin and she looked ready to go. What else had Felix just said?

As he took her in—studied her mouth and tits, her hands—putting a scene together, three things coalesced at once. He realized she looked quite young, no where near the right age to submit to him; she appeared strung out, possibly still high and not in the right state of mind to make these decisions—at the least, she was severely dehydrated; and third, Felix had quit talking.

From the periphery, Christian could see him shaking his head silently as he typed on his phone. Christian's own phone chimed in his pocket. A little moan escaped the girl's lips at the sound.

— _Bad scene. She's wasted. You need to take her, play it up— F_

With a low rumble in his voice, Christian instinctively took a step forward, toward the bed, and met Krystal's eyes, halfway in the shadows cast through the window blinds. She smiled at him, and quickly lifted herself to kneel on the bed. She rolled her body seductively. Her hand came up to toy with her black velvet collar, and his attention settled on the large signet ring on her finger. The initials MM were engraved in gold.

Her shallow breathing, though sensual, suddenly made him sad, and he felt… emotions he hadn't experienced in years. Hopefully, Felix didn't notice the distance in Christian's eyes when they connected with hers.

He nodded at Felix, and took a quick glance toward the door. He rolled his shoulders and (slipped into control), yanking Krystal's elbow, twisting her to stand. A flicker of dread flashed behind his eyes, and he grimaced at the helpless woman h'ed just plucked to his side. When she wobbled, he tightened his grip. Whether he was pissed at her blasé disregard for her own well being, or he was pissed at Felix for dragging him into this mess, his next words were harsh and demanding, a withering _don't fuck with me little girl._

"I am your master now. Do as I say and there's a chance we might both enjoy tonight. Come. Get your shoes?"

xXx

Without another word exchanged, they had exited The Drone as a couple, his tuxedo jacket swimming over her petit shoulders and barely-there lace dress. It was not a dress, he thought, it was a tease. The ride to Escala was a silent blur as he began to form a tidy plan. Christian was focused and calculating, as the garage entrance came into view. Fucking Felix and his interfering.

He exited his Audi briskly and smoothly, loping around to Krystal's door. She had vomited until she was heaving before he even allowed her in the car. Now over her slurred protests, he motioned for her to stand up beside him. Motioned, yanked, fuck if he cared at this point.

With her hands free, Christian's equilibrium shifted and he twisted her shoulders in an attempt to get her to turn her hips to face him. Five inch heels and her hazy consciousness were battling him as well.

Her non-compliance would have been comical if he'd been anyone else. But asshole that he was, he just took what he wanted... plunging an angry hand up her dress from behind, between her ass cheeks and her wet core. He reached blindly up through her thighs and skimmed his hand over her tiny belly til he grabbed the latch of her garter belt and squeezed with his index finger and thumb. He knew this Agent piece well, and in an instant he'd forced it from her stunned body.

He pulled her elbows back. It wasn't even a demand, he just took. Seconds later, her drunk limbs were secure behind her. He guided this lithe young woman beside him to the elevator. If she had a clue what was happening, she played it off. A smirk tickled his mouth when he thought of the cameras General Steele had insisted they install when he moved in last April. Definitely an interesting development, as he considered the scene. A drunk sub past midnight in his elevator—restraint was his only option. Up they went.

They beelined to his master suite, he didn't have the patience to maneuver her upstairs to the playroom or the guest bath. He was operating on fumes, desperate for the release Felix had interrupted, fighting sleep and in no fucking mood to deal with this little girl's shit.

He tied her to the brass cross bars under his vanity and parked her inebriated ass on a crisp white terrycloth stool, shaking his head. No one had ever sat there. He dashed upstairs to get what he needed, as though he knew at this point. She's a virgin was on a loop in his head.

When he returned, Krystal was smiling cheekily. It was a plastered smile, more appropriate for a matryoshka doll. She had angled a foot under her opposite knee, so he could just see the shadow of her pussy. He removed his shirt and quickly shook his head, at her lightening quick shift, her back arching at the sight of him, her shoulders pulling against her restraints. She moaned with arousal.

Unzipping the small bag he'd set on the counter before them, he unscrewed the cap on a bottle of viscous liquid and moistened a sterile pad. He leaned over her, squeezed her head to secure her from moving and frowned.

Krystal caught on quickly and whipped her head back. "Hey you'll mess it up!" Her shriek echoed loudly among all the alabaster.

Christian gave her a dirty look, and pulled the ball gag from his pocket. She was done talking.

"You're mine now." He leaned his forehead down on hers, and held her shoulders tightly. It was an action of forced dominance. But he couldn't help his body's instinctive reaction to her soft skin. "Understand?" He sensed her features light up in delight. She nodded hastily, drool flicking across his chest.

Leaning back he took a deep breath, leading her to breathe in-time with him. To settle and relax. She was a disaster. A stunning fractured china doll.

With deliberate strokes, he cleaned the black caked on mascara from her eyes that smudged down her cheeks. He wiped away her harlot lips in deep strokes. "You're beautiful. Krystal." He hummed as he went along cleaning her, her tears slipped from under her painted eyelids in rivulets, squeaking down like those of a guilty child whose crimes were revealed indirectly. She was a child.

He felt nothing. He told himself.

He ignored the odd sensation while he undid her garter belt and massages her wrists. The glint of her gold jewelry caught his eye again, and he tilted his head. _MM_ read her ring, was that her Dom? His mind processed a catalog of Doms he knew and came up blank. He let a heavy sigh escape at the thought. She's too young, much too fresh and immature to submit to anyone. _MM_

He worked his hands up her arms to her shoulders, relaxing her, easing her into his orbit. Physician, healer. Her new reality. She swiveled around in her seat to face him, while he bent down on his haunches and encouraged her to look at him. She was his to have, her eyes said. Anything he wanted. He hadn't noticed that she'd started to slowly undulate her neck and torso, in an encouragement of sex and sin. He was captivated by her striking innocence, and delicate flushed features. He held his face in a deadpan disdain for her, a safety really.

Realizing her seduction would go unrequited, Krystal turned her chin into her shoulder, embarrassed and chilled perhaps. Christian lifted her chin and closed his own eyes, a wordless instruction that she do the same. Then, he swiped her lids one last time, and blew cool breath across them. With a steady calm, he slowly eased her false eyelashes from her face and discarded them in the sink behind them.

Her eyes fluttered open and Christian's heart slammed forward in his chest. My God, this beautiful creature was hiding, dying behind a false edgy front, and look what he'd uncovered beneath? Beneath the shame and overt sexuality, her wanton attitude and tequila-aided sluttiness. He bit his tongue.

In a final act, he pulled off her wig, unwound her hair tie and threaded the fingers of both his hands through her waves until it rested naturally just shy of her shoulders. Through these kind ministrations, he revealed a young mousy blond girl, maybe seventeen, shivering from exposure on so many levels. His sad smile faded as her embarrassment grew. He wrapped her in his crumbled tuxedo shirt and stood up, no longer able to look in her eyes.

"You're mine. Understand? You're staying here. With me. You will not leave the apartment. You will not return to the club." She nodded in agreement. "Ever, Krystal."

She stared at his mouth as he spoke. She better fucking be listening, that was the easy part. "A man I know, a good man, is arranging a space for you. A place for you to stay for a while." _Ninety days most likely._

Silently, she protested. The gag couldn't hide her dejected emotions and the sobs picked up as soon as she realized Christian would not be part of the plans he laid out.

"Krystal. Krystal, listen sweetheart." He squeezed her chin and tilted her head back in submission. "You're not well. What was going on tonight, with Felix… with Dior… That's not for you." She pulled away.

"You're not what we want. It's not what you want." Her broken tears slid down and fell on his hands were he rubbed her wrists over and over. "It's alright. We're going to straighten you out. It's okay, it'll be okay." She kicked his shin and whined out.

Shaking his head, he crouched to his knees in front of her and tapped his thigh, motioning for her to put her stilettoed foot there. With great care he removed her shoe, and massaged her foot for a bit. Until she was calm again. "I know Krystal. I can see it." he whispered. And smell it, he thought. Between her toes were the tiny scabs, like the marks of tiny poisonous bedbugs. "What are these?"

She moaned in protest, trying to whine out a no.

He stood up and backed away. To give her space to digest what was happening. Fuck if he knew. He was off the map here. She might try to flee, but she hadn't tried to remove the gag, even though he'd untied her and she obviously knew they wouldn't be playing.

"I know what they are sweetheart. I'm a doctor. I want to help you. You've hurt enough."

 **xXx**

 _you've hurt enough, you've hurt enough_ Ana made the same pleas to him when he'd refused her hands tonight. Fucking conscience.

Christian rubbed his midnight stubble and bristled at the memory of Krystal from two months ago. For two days he kept her under 'house arrest,' he laughed at Krystal's term. For two days he shared every moment with her. Her initial recovery, her control, her power to endure her withdrawal, survive the kick down, the slimy sweats and him. There was no denying the chemistry between them, but it's a sick fuck that wants to take from a strung out virgin. Hell, any virgin should cower in front of him, and he'd never. He snarled in disgust at the memory of her exposed entreaties at every turn.

For two long days she detoxed and raged. At him for denying her what she wanted, at herself for her self-immolating choices. He'd never shared such intimacy and connection with another person. For two days, Krystal slept in his bed. No trophies, no awards, he'd simply saved her life. As long as he was breathing, he'd risk his neck for her in every capacity after those hours together.

And fucking Felix thought driving Ana home was returning the favor? He had no idea. None.

When Elliot appeared on the third morning, with three coffees, two plane tickets, and a new disguise for her, Christian finally admitted to himself something he'd known for so long, but he'd refused to admit. Not everyone in his lifestyle was benign. Not everyone was simply working through traumas and mutual power exchanges.

There was a malevolent stain on The Drone, and there were sinister people with malicious motives, intent on corrupting this fragile girl. With Krystal still wrapping herself in his tuxedo jacket, he passed her to Elliot without preamble. His brother, the psychiatrist would ferry her as his patient, to her final destination, Choices, in Malibu California. He let her go with a heavy heart that the whole clever secret charade was even necessary. That there were people she needed protection from. That in those forty-eight hours, not once did her parents reach out to her. That she was alone and broken, and that thank God she'd managed to fall into Felix's field of influence on a warm night full of multiple partners. Thank God.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**

 **I appreciate and enjoy every sliver of feedback ya'll share, here and on Facebook. This is a slow story of Christian's journey to wholeness, thank you for joining me.**

 **xoxo Mrs Caron**


	13. Chapter 13 The Space Between Heartbeats

_Enjoy! :)_

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 13 — The Space Between Heartbeats**

 _Sunday, August 6_

If Christian Grey, exhausted and tired-of-all-the-bullshit-at-this-late-hour anesthesiologist, had to listen to one more ass kissing voicemail from self-entitled Doctors Without Borders donors, he was going to break off the goddamn steering column in his car.

He wasn't even at the fucking meeting this morning. Red tape. Supplies and logistics. He didn't give two shits who manufactured the HPV vaccines in the protocols. Wasn't that up to Jason Taylor and the politicians? Wyatt Winfield? That new slick senator?

At least listening to the dozen or so messages distracted him from the lingering scent of Ana's perfume that hung all over the front seats. Distracted him from his impending proximity to _her_. His empty apartment and the nightmares he knew were coming. Damn he wanted to see her. Now. Not tomorrow.

Even though little of consequence—that was an understatement—had changed over the course of the day, he sensed an easing down, a quieting of the churn and roll of this Saturday from the absolute pits of Hell. He cracked his neck from side to side, flexing his muscles, expelling the death and mortal threats from his day. Who would want to dwell on the fucked up turn of events he'd processed in the past few hours?

 _Faceless. Bodiless. To be faceless and bodiless. Get there fast. Lose himself and his surroundings._ That was his usual MO when he thought about the horrors and death that he operated around daily. His successful escape hatch in the midst of death's chaos. But tonight, he didn't want the faceless bodiless silence he normally craved. He wanted contact. He wanted the face and the body. Her face and her body, wrapped around him, underneath him. The visions in his head flooded through every part of him, trickled down into his core, forcing him to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

The late hour and the pleasant night that had finally set in, left the streets deserted, nothing to navigate but his swirling thoughts. Was she already asleep? He rolled his windows down at a stop and took the beat to exhale. Recalibrate. Reset. It was late on a weekend. He was reasonably sober. Tired, but clear. There were no submissives perched on a stool in his kitchen, waiting for some sensual play. His kitchen was dark.

There would be no clanging handcuffs drawing his attention to the living room, where a naked beauty waited, having anchored herself to his piano bench. He'd wouldn't bang out a loud concerto while she gyrated on the lid, in rhythm with his piano's vibrations. Escala was quiet.

There would be no aroused woman spread out panting on his sofa, teasing herself to climax with the chains of her nipple clamps, silently begging for all the terrible things he could do to her.

No. There would be no one this Saturday. They were all gone. His apartment was empty. And he didn't mind. Well, that wasn't entirely true.

Christian drove on, slinking across the city's lower west side, the constant whirr of his tires over the wet cobblestoned streets marginally soothing. Felix left the key fob in his locker, after he dropped off the sexiest woman alive at her apartment. It was a calculated move on Christian's part—weren't they all calculated moves—to have Felix drive Ana in the R8. A small reminder, to all parties, to remember who was in charge—the man with the R8. Not Felix, or his sex on wheels harlot red Testa Rosa.

Ana. _Anastasia._ Fuck, he wanted to see her, to hold her. With her goddamned recovery fresh in his mind, he drifted to an memory of Krystal from a few weeks ago, front door cracked, waiting for his arrival, her pink pajamas askew. Naturally, he had to cover up that pretty skin of hers, he was a man first after all, before he could lie down beside her. Never to sleep. He couldn't. He could only watch and comfort her.

His mind flipped Krystal to Ana. It was _Ana_ in his home waiting for him. On the sofa, in the kitchen, outside the powder room, whispering to him through the door. In his bed. Waiting. No pajamas. Skin flushed a different pink in anticipation. In need. _Of what exactly? Could he give her what she needed? Could he take from her what he craved?_

He slammed his door as he got out, rolling his shoulders as he hiked his jacket back up. He needed a shower. He was definitely psychotic because he didn't shower at the hospital because he wanted to get home quickly, to be closer to her. Or pussy-whipped.

It was after midnight when he finally entered the elevator. He slipped his card in the security slot to access the top floor, and as the doors slid closed, he noticed the front desk was empty. No night security. That's odd.

With lead shoes, he trudged back to his apartment. He denied himself even a glance to her end of the hall. _She's sleeping._ His steps faltered when he saw a small bag hanging from his door handle. He knew it was from her. He slipped the handles over his ring finger as he undid his locks. Leaning against his closed door, he peered inside the bag. A round green apple and his clothes that she'd pilfered early this morning and paraded around in his apartment in front the detectives—part of her little show of claiming him. Smiling, he pictured her freshly showered body in his closet, he pictured her hands among his shirts. He closed his eyes and dipped his face into the bag, inhaling deeply. He smelled apples and Ana. Relaxed by her gesture, but a little put out that he'd lost an excuse to poke around her place again, he shed his day and moved through his foyer.

His eyes landed on the kitchen island where she'd laid her purse, they darted to their moments on the sofa. _Was she really asleep?_ He sat in contemplative silence on the couch, until he felt like an asshole, rehashing their teenaged fumblings. He laughed to himself, and rubbed his face, the stubble under his fingertips soothed him.

He fingered open his cell and glanced at the picture of Ana he'd snapped in her office. She was hunched over her desk, deep in the conversation with that fucker she used to date. He swiped to another picture from earlier, at Susannah's. Ana's body was framed in the kitchen's window. Her dark hair covering all but her profile, only her pretty mouth peeked out. Her long neck was hidden… Fuck this. Let her sleep.

* * *

With no logical or even illogical reason to remain awake, he rose and moved toward his room. He turned off the lights in his wake, until he reached his suite, then slowly moved to stand in the doorway leading into his closet. With his eyes surveying his clothes to select fresh briefs and a t-shirt, his mouth turned up in appreciation of his clothes on Ana, now in the little bag she'd left him with an apple. She was tempting. He tossed his phones on his bedside table and headed to the bath and the cleansing promise of a quick shower.

Leaning against the counter, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The late evening humidity hung over his body and his head felt heavy, fat latent rain drops from earlier still clung to his neck and down along his sleeved shirt. Christian spread a hand wide on the counter and leaned in, staring intently at the man before him. For the first time in year he gazed in contentment. Then the loneliness set in.

A moan accompanied his massive exhale. A heavy rejection of all of it. All of the loss, all of the guilt, the blame. All of the mental vertigo that tipped every fucking time into a vision of Ana at its center. Sure he felt catharsis. Catharsis from the massive release of air and emotion. He felt it scatter out over the cold marble vanity and tiles.

He yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere to the side and focused on the remnants of his tattoo. Her sweet bubble heart. _"According to Ana."_ It resembled more of a sloppy kiss now, a half baked effort at intimacy, but he knew the feelings they'd exchanged were real. His abdomen shuttered, a twitching aroused motion, when he saw the vague angles of her leftover arrow, and her naughty question mark.

His fingers pulled her lipliner tube from his back pocket—hell yes, he'd stolen it again—and twirled it in his hand. He tossed it by the sink. _Would she draw on him everyday?_ He laughed at himself.

She'd texted earlier after she arrived home. **_don't worry about me, I'm safe ;) xx Ana_**

He could read her message as a warning, don't worry. But there was a tinge of goodbye in it. A subcutaneous acknowledgement that their day together had been an outlier. He scowled at himself for needing. He simply wanted her and even her six word dismissal wouldn't stop him.

Why was he annoyed that her message was so vague and avoided any mention of what had had happened between them? Hell, he couldn't articulate what had happened between them.

He closed his eyes and tried to rub away the soreness from work, the dull ache, buried under layers of skin, and muscle and bone. He slowly brought a hand over and caressed his own skin down his torso, to his waist and the collection of irregular marks, the pocks and indents, the divots and worn skin that hugged around him like a barbed wire belt—a camouflage of sorts—trying to simulate how they might feel to Ana, if he did let her get that close. It was bittersweet to think she sought to release his pain the one way he fought against, through touch. Touching him would corrupt her hands. Wouldn't it? His dream from earlier resurfaced, Ana healing him, accepting him.

He'd tell her they were stretch marks if she asked. Fuck if she'd believe that, with her background. Leila never asked. _Was that good or bad?_ _Did she ignore them because she feared my reprisal, or was she just aware of my boundaries and respected them?_ He never asked her. Now he'll never know.

Stretch marks, he laughed at himself. He gripped the back of his neck with both hands and sagged down as he sighed out his frustrations—his reflection caught him again, and he stared at the rest of his scars on the undersides of his forearms. His soft flesh looked like chicken scratch, or a paled skin rash. He suddenly itched, thinking of the morphine and it's efficacy, side effects, death.

Get in the shower Grey. He was torturing himself with this self-inspection. Your heart is fucking with you. Or was it his head? Or both? His hands slid to cover his heart and he swallowed.

He knew the nightmares would be brutal tonight. He could sense it, as surely as he could sense the steadiness of his heartbeat under his hand. No amount of control, no amount of Ana could harness his rapid heartbeat. He couldn't even map a rhythm to it. _She's invaded every fucking part of me._

He yanked at the shower door and let the faucet fly. Fuck this! He tossed his pants aside. It's not real. None of this can be real. _I know who I am._ While he washed his body, rubbing off every last mention of Ana and her makeup tattoos, he felt calm return. His control. None of it was real. Except…

A bitterness cleaved in his throat, and reached up from his chest where it fanned out and he felt his pulse deep in his molars. His throat clenched and his heartbeat rose into his ears. It's the lost control, the seismic unease of her. He'd do anything to avoid this ache, this dooming sense of release. He simply couldn't endure it.

None of it was real. As the hot shower rained down on him, he grabbed on to his last drops of denial, fraying on the chambers of his heart. He would hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not imagine a real future.

What was unendurable was what his own head would tell him when it lurched toward Ana, and peered over the walls. A fire lit in his body at the thought, a million splintering pulses radiated in agreement. But he could choose not to listen. Not to listen to his head. Not to hear her, her calm insistent saving call. He'd endure it, and ignore it. He'd live between the heartbeats. But was that really living? _Is surviving really living?_

He leaned in the corner of the shower, the hot water sheeting over him, washing away so much. His past, his inexorable past lives were always catching up with him. So he'd chosen separateness in his life. But now he wanted it all. He chided himself for looking back, even after she'd offered herself to him.

For ages he'd existed in the space between. The space between living and dying. The space between family and strangers. The space between clear and high. The space of melancholy and denial. The space of no one. His own space. The space between heartbeats.

It was a tempered existence. Intended to keep his self-loathing away. He could measure his heartbeats and know he was alive. But was being alive the real goal anymore? What was real? What Ana offered? Or the exile he lived now?

Didn't Ana make him want more? Make him crave more? His past, the spaces between, those spaces didn't seem real now. He could continue to tell himself his space between was real—just surrender to the space between.

When he sloughed off his past, and stopped. Closed his eyes… _Listened for his heart to beat_ , he found the walls disappeared, and in the center—where his head met his heart, instead of being closed in—in the center was Ana. He was there too, with her. She made all his excuses, all his past misdeeds, and the spaces between evaporate. Crumble, part, wash away. He climaxed on an image of her, lying below him in the red room, it's walls fading, vibrating with love.

He climbed in to sleep without a sedative. All these tidal-sized decisions and consequences ebbed out from his head as he situated himself in the middle of his bed. The blasé packages of the fentanyl patches he usually kept in his night stand called to him. Except there were none. His thumbs itched with pavlovian response to his brain's memory of peeling back the paper to expose the adhesive. If he were to listen to his heart, try something new with Ana, he couldn't continue to medicate himself. But that left him restless. And he couldn't sleep, not for some time.

Eventually he drifted off, before a familiar nightmare startled him. A slow motion roll call of twenty-two faces, forty-four hands, and his smoke-damaged throat gasping for air. He vaguely heard himself shout out Nina. Then he was prone, restrained like his patients and strapped to a gurney while none of his limbs worked. His mind was muddled and every language he summoned failed to gain a response from the doctors around him.

* * *

He startled from his dream, twisting to the noise beside him. As he reached for his cell, Ana's half-eaten apple tumbled out and bounced on the floor. He was distracted for a moment, because… _it wasn't his cell ringing._ It was the hospital cell, the on-call phone. Sitting up more, he squinted and rubbed his face trying to place the glowing number.

He knew! Jostling the phone, he swiped it open. "Ana?"

" _Christian…"_ her voice a shimmer of sound.

"Ana… Are you okay?" You sound… What time—"

"Christian there's someone here…"

"I'm coming." Within seconds he was at his front door, the bolts off, and he peered out into the hall. He closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in years, that she was fine, that he could save her. The hallway was quiet, as it should be. The stillness unremarkable, which made his heartbeats louder and his breath urgent. He stepped out, and realized his bare feet on the marble were an advantage, the only sound the rustle of his cotton pants.

He heard the latch of her door echo down the hall, and he quickened his pace. He knew he was not alone. His jaw clenched and he balled his hands into fists as he felt his muscles respond to synapses trained over thousands of hours to fight. To end things.

All the things he thought in two seconds. If Ana were dead, he might as well leave his hands at his sides, because he'd want to die too… She's fine, she found a safe place and called. You will get to her. You have a skill set even the MSF commandos want. He considered a couple moves, picturing different assailants. But his mind mainly focused on a simple dark shadow suspended above her. He wanted to scream out, let her know he was coming, but he didn't want to threaten her life. It was better to proceed cautiously, deliberately….

He'd worry later that two nights in a row, he'd been racing to her rescue.

Then she was there. Safe.

Ana's small form hustled toward him, her sheer cotton gown silently waving in surrender. Gliding across the quiet hall from her apartment toward his, she was a vision. The scattered glow from the moonlight behind him creeped in through the window, casting small shards of light over Ana's body, enough so he could barely make out the contours of the feminine triangle between her legs. A groan escaped him as his head fell back. He caught himself quickly, and forced his eyes lower, where her pale pink toenails distracted him for a moment, even as she bounded into his arms, clasping herself to him. His skin cooled at her touch and the back of his neck, his ears, his lungs pricked with anticipation.

He kissed her head, and hugged her close, ignoring her beaded nipples pressing against his bare chest. She was shivering. "I'm here. Shh… It's okay." He tightened his grip. She's never leaving my arms. "Ana, what's got you so worked up, baby? What's this all about?"

"Nothing. I don't know. I thought there was someone with me." She shook against him, and he reveled in the feeling that she sought solace in his embrace.

"Should I call the police?" She looked at him skeptically, but he shook her off. Keep. Her. Safe.

"Ana… Fuck their theories, I want you safe."

"No, it's alright. It's alright. You're here now." She breathed out her fears, letting them settle down along the cold marble floor.

"I am here." He tilted her a moment and lifted her into his arms. As she settled against him, she pressed her mouth to his collarbone and whispered thank you.

He couldn't answer, he was overwhelmed. The fog she'd kept him in for the past few hours was back.

"Christian, I'm scared." His fingers squeezed her soft flesh.

He held her possessively when he turned down the hall to his place, trying to mould her into his body. He realized he was naked from the waist up. With Ana hugging him, he was completely exposed, his skin, his scars, and soon—if he wanted any future with this angel— his past would be as well.

For now, tonight, he focused on Ana, what she needed, letting the disquieting rumor in his head die down— _someone is watching_. He looked to her door, fastened closed, a plain wooden barrier at the far end of the hall. He pushed away thoughts of lay beyond there.

Was it her past, hiding behind the door?

The next few beats were silent, and mostly in the dark. With Ana safe in his apartment, behind locks and dead bolts, he moved to the sofa where he sat down. In their usual spot, he smiled to himself. Our spot. They could rest here for this night, he'd watch her sleep and protect her. Like Krystal, but different. For perhaps the first time, he was very aware of what he was doing with her. He spent a moment too long feeling the weight of her on him. The weight of what was happening. He held on to that, the weight of his intentions, like it was the life preserver he needed, like he was floating on a tiny raft out to sea, far beyond any borders, any safe harbor or mooring. He squeezed her tightly to him, inhaling her sleepy sighs, then finally, he lifted her off, and turned to give her space. She cried in protest.

"No. Not here." She looked into him. "Please?" she begged, her eyes greedy for something beyond an answer to her fears, something more than the comfort of his company. Something more.

And just when he thought she was his lifeline, his security in a vast sea of unknowns, he realized—staring deeply into her frightened blue eyes, gauzy and cryptic—much too late to save himself, that _she was the ocean._ And she might swallow him whole. And fuck if he didn't want that. Didn't want to drown in her right now, to be towed under by her beautiful pleading face, her chilling eyes, her incredible body.

"Kay." Because that's the only sound that could pass his mouth.

"Okay."

With a fluidity he didn't know he possessed, and without a hitch, he stood. Still hugging Ana tightly, he made his way toward his suite. He walked around his bed, and placed her in the middle, recalling how he'd laid Ana down in her own place barely a week ago, in a liar's effort to say good bye.

Tonight, he didn't hover, although he could have. She seemed far away, her mind wrestling with an idea on the periphery. She rubbed her lips between her teeth and stared intently, which was nothing new, her eyes had been glued to his since they'd entered his place. He ran his knuckles down her cheek and clenched his jaw, a tiny move to control something. Really? He laughed, with her there was no control, it was like trying to lasso the wind in a hurricane. She's a gift from Heaven.

When he tried to unhinge himself and stand upright, Ana's grip around his neck tightened, almost imperceptibly. He was snared in her magnificent web. He felt her strength and beauty and didn't want to break the moment, as though the slightest move away might scuttle their breakthrough and destroy the entire dazzling moment.

His hands moved to her shoulders, and he paused. The sight of her in his bed eager and smiling, lying below him clinging to him, was so satisfying, so fulfilling, his other senses receded, and he was left with his vision and the touch of her goose-pimpled skin below his fingertips. Very slowly and just as deliberately, he slipped his hands from her shoulders, over her small arms, back up to her wrists, where she'd laced her fingers to the back of his neck, scraping his locks of hair.

Still holding her beautiful eyes in his, nothing more than dark pools of need in the middle of an inky night, he squeezed her hands slightly asking for her to release her arms. He laced her warm hands in his own and brought them to his mouth. The sound of his wet kiss against her shaky flesh brought the rest of his senses awake. He rubbed his nose across her fresh skin and maybe even tasted the citrus in her beauty balm, before laying her arms to rest at her sides. He put his left knee on the bed, and climbed over her, staring, memorizing, unaware of any universe that existed her willing eyes.

They laid together and let the moment settle over them. Ana turned toward Christian, when he tapped his hands to his chest, signaling come here in any language, body or vocal. The silence, the same silence that seemed so foreboding and scary not five minutes ago, was now a watcher, an anticipating breath holding witness to the close moment they were sharing. As her petit frame sunk into his, he adjusted the covers—for two bodies, not one. "Sleep baby." He rubbed her head under his chin, and allowed himself a moment's reflection, an exhale. I choose her. I choose the hurricane. This rapturous solitude. With Ana. God forgive me.

Pale apricot discs of dilaudid, nestled in the palm of his hand, flitted through his hazy mind. Ana's rescue diverted him from his earlier cruel nightmare, but he felt it's dread looming. It was near, like a head cold that wouldn't clear, uncomfortable and fatiguing. The drugs were close by, a shrug and a stretch away, inside the drawer beside him. With Ana tucked into his right side, he'd need only shift his left arm to release the cabinet.

But then she whispered his name, and it was a confession. A longing, laced with heat and need. And he knew. He wasn't going to dose up. Not with his future lying beside him.

While his eyes adjusted to the dim late hour, he laid still beside her, listening to her sounds. Evaluating. Breathing. Existing. He was exposed, his emotions overruling every physical tool or measure he knew. She could touch him.

The mastery of _The When_ , his control were gone. He was unmoored and out to sea. Helpless... His head angled to seek out his table's handle. _Grab two patches, one for me and one for Ana._ The huge turbulence built inside. Like an iceberg tumbling down into a sea of Ana. A crisp welcoming water with warm pale eyes. He knew a light sedation would have no effect. He would to have to free sleep with Ana.

Before he could process what he wanted, he was talking into the night, "I've wanted this for weeks." _Since we met._ "Maybe even before then. I think I dreamt of you, Ana. I imagined you might exist, but…"

"Christian, quit talking. I want to kiss you. I need you." She pressed her fingertips into his chest as her lips grazing the underside of his chin. He shuttered beneath her. "You called me baby." She kissed him again. "You don't know, do you?" She scraped her teeth across his stubbled neck. "How could you? How you make me feel. Please let me show you. Let me make love to you." Then she pulled back, her shadow rose beside him.

He felt the bed shift and roll, the mattress bounce and knew Ana was shimmying out of her underwear. He swallowed loudly on reflex. He imagined he'd be the one to roll her panties down her long legs.

He leaned up on his elbows to watch, to try to make out her sexy silhouette. She was propped on one hand facing him as she slid her underthings down over her knees, and yanked the little thongs past her heels.

He wanted to pull her to him, but she was quick and rose on to her knees beside him. He couldn't see her face in the dark shadows cast by the moonlight behind, but he felt the whoosh of her hair as it moved over her shoulders cascading down her chest. He twitched as she crossed her arms and pulled her thin lace gown over her head, lifting her hair, her dress, her breasts, her arms, everything. The light fabric cleared her head, exposing herself. As his name whispered across her lips, she swept the lace back like a wedding veil, or an angel tossing her wings aside to take on a more human form. It was such a quick move, and happened so quickly, he opened his mouth in response, but the moment was lost. Her dark curves, her sensual form, shivering yet warm, kneeling beside him. She was imprinted in his mind forever, giving herself over.

Ana was excited... her ragged breathes made him harder. And never had the sound of skin against cotton been so enticing or forbidden.

She shifted as she sighed out his name again, and her hair ticked his torso, licking along his side, tender and unexpected, like a velvet ribbon wisping beneath a descending balloon. A symphony of desire and peace filled his body, and he fought for his own equilibrium amid waves of joy and anticipation. His sexual hunger, barely under control, threatened to burst from his chest, and pin her body below his. But she had begun this. His exhausted self was content to give her this moment. He was almost certain when her naked skin touched his, finally, he'd break, or worse, he'd break her. So he tried to control himself, let her lead the dance.

He waited. Unsure if he moved to touch her, how his body would respond. Yes, he'd dreamt of touching her, dozens of times. He also dreamt of dominating her. His own soft touch becoming forceful, lips brushing, tongues forcing, turning to power and release. He didn't want any of that shit now, but he'd trained himself to need those things. To master a woman's body. It was reflexive. So he waited. And breathed, searching for her eyes in the dark.

Her tiny hand extended to his pajama pants, where she let her fingers lazily skate circles at his hip. If he rolled a fraction into her, she'd graze his rigid cock, where it stuck out above his waist band.

When he heard her lips part, the tiniest suction between her mouth and tongue, his control snapped and he pulled her on top of him, smashing his mouth to hers, where he kissed her madly.

Her pert nipples pressed into his naked chest and his whole body spasmed in worship. He spread his thighs so she could nestle further into him and gave in. Her mewls were drowned by his own plaintive noises and he fisted her hair to hold her still. To take what he so desperately needed, and wait for the adrenaline kick to ebb away.

As her soft body sunk into him, Christian allowed himself a moments reflection on an exhale. _I choose her. I choose this solitude. With Ana. God has_ _forgiven_ _me._

He brushed his mouth across hers, then held it there, deepening the kiss. And he let go. Tasting her, smelling her, feeling her every movement and shift.

Ana swallowed loudly, aware of his rippled change, his unspoken commitment to their union, to coming undone. Her eyes fluttered open and she found Christian's face relaxed, his own eyelids struggling to remain open. He inhaled her giggled breathes, as she moved her hands to his jaw, and massaged him there, dusting his face, mapping him with her nose, her soft breaths seeping into every pour. The rest of her body clung to his, shoulder to core, her breasts pillowed between them, a perfect duet of lust and embrace.

Christian tried to fight it, the pull toward freedom, a real peace. No controls, no measures or narcotics. Ana was seducing him. She probably had weeks ago, when he first met her. Now, he could reciprocate, if he could just get his head to match his heart's desires. He was slipping under her spell, to his own dream of a healed self. Her sexy hips rolled over his in slow motions. He was so content, and her sweet voice whispering words, confessing her feelings for him faded. Her scent, her soft skin. He was in a wide meadow, where he'd pictured himself last night, kneeling in front of her.

Her rhythms felt like a warm bath and he let her breathy sounds wash over him. She covered him in wave after wave of peace. He floated. For a brief second, he drifted. Drifted off and dreamt, a lucid dream of sunshine and apples and Ana. The sensations moved him, like good bye and hello all at once. It tickled his cheeks and seeped into his conscious mind. At the exact moment his body and mind were pulled under, into a deep deep serenity, Christian felt a small smile curl up his lips as sleep hit him—Ana was the fucking sandman.


	14. Chapter 14 I Love you, but I'm Dangerous

_**Good**_ ** _morning, please enjoy this. I enjoyed writing it the most of any chapter._ **

* * *

**The Sandman**

 **Chapter 14 — I Love You, but I'm Dangerous**

 _Sunday, August 6_ _th_

Her naked earlobe was in his mouth, where he suckled it rudely between his tongue and his teeth. Her round ass cheeks filled his hands as he ground her down into his core. Above him, Ana's erratic breaths tickled his neck and sent thousands and thousands of lust-charged ions down his spine. With her elbows resting on his shoulders, she leveraged her body weight to roll her pelvis over and over marking him with her subtle scent.

With these reflections fresh in his mind, Christian lulled himself awake in a black haze of tranquility. Without opening his eyes, or flexing his muscles, _moving_ , he felt the dichotomy of sleep's sedated numbness arguing with his wired body. He allowed himself a throaty approval at last night's beginnings, and his lame as fuck sleepy exit, before rubbing his eyes open.

His shades were drawn and he had no idea what time it was, didn't care in the least, and even though there was no Ana, he was alone in his bed again, he was elated. Really—elated?

His brain rolled through last night's scene, one frame at a time. Sexy image after sexy hot as fuck image of Ana Steele lying naked on top of him, rubbing and mewling, whispering naughty thoughts to him. They couldn't all be real. He'd imagined variations on last night so many times, but he knew she'd put him to sleep with her tantalizing words and that sinful body of hers.

I hope she's still here. She won't go back to her place without me? Before he had a chance to move to investigate—he heard it. Distant mumbling. Ana was humming. He laughed at his good fortune.

He felt around for the remote from his bedside table and raised the blinds part way. Instinctively he reached for an upper, but realized he'd done a free sleep last night, no pharmaceutical interventions, so he didn't need anything. He smirked. _Interesting_.

As the sun fought to free itself from the last dark bands of twilight, and Christian lay rested in bed, he heard Ana's soft feminine voice murmuring nearby, maybe in his bathroom. His entire body shuttered at the sound and his heart announced itself, drumming a rapid cadence in his ears. Christian smiled open-mouthed, and stopped breathing for a minute to take in the monumental shift her morning presence signified.

During that week of overnights they shared, she was usually gone in the morning. _But last night_ s _he stayed._ And on those other mornings, he certainly wasn't lying in bed this painfully erect. He looked down at his dick, much more awake than he was. During those earlier nights he'd spent with her, he'd gotten used to being stiff— _a different stiff Grey_ —from sleeping folded against the sofa while he cradled his sleeping beauty. Those were distant memories, and he couldn't wait to make new ones.

He stayed in the moment contemplating her presence, as if he was watching an actual sunrise, to be sure he witnessed the sun burst through the horizon and stretch up to kiss the sky. He laid there, absorbing her beautiful sounds, within the walls of his home.

She's here, and I didn't have to negotiate or manipulate to get her here. Clearly, they both wanted it. She asked for it, and he gave in to her, gave in to himself.

Dead submissives aside. Losing Leila and Susannah, but gaining Ana? Could he wish for the first circumstances to change, without losing the latter? That's a fucking twisted thought this early in the morning. Wasn't it true though? Those women were dead and Christian had Ana.

He hadn't had Ana _yet_ —could he be with her was another matter. He'd be lying to himself to deny he'd wondered how sex with her would work. He shook his head at the ceiling, it will work. Fuck, he could still taste her kisses. If kissing her was that intoxicating, numbing him into oblivion, he groaned thinking about how sweet the rest of her must taste. Christ, he came close to fucking her last night. He shifted himself. She wove some sort of magic over him, he didn't even remember falling asleep.

He didn't move to get out of bed, content to let everything tumble over in his mind, travel to parts of his heart he didn't know existed, deep down parts that sprouted roots, that poked his insides with a renewing bite, that lulled him into imagining future mornings just like this one. Surely I can entice her to come back to bed with me.

A new noise jolted him up, and he stilled to hear better. Ana wasn't humming, she was talking. _What the fuck?_

* * *

He stood at his bathroom door and listened a moment. Was she angry? Her whispered words sounded vaguely combative. From his position, he could see her reflection in the mirror. Should he go to her? Was it his business? Where the hell did her goddamn phone come from? He didn't remember seeing it last night.

Her phone was pressed against her pretty head, as she leaned over the vanity, her hushed cadence growing louder as he approached. He couldn't really see her reflected in the mirror, her messy chocolate tresses obscured her pretty face. He smiled and felt relief release like a sail unfurling as it caught in the wind. She is here. But she felt distant, the atmosphere heavy.

He exhaled and paused to listen intently, she hadn't noticed him yet. He couldn't read her body's language, couldn't make out what she was saying, but her hushed cadence was sad now, resigned. _She was suffering._ Christian straightened a bit, thinking of Ana's dead dad, and how he planned on being there for her now, in every way. _After he had her first, after he feast on every supple inch of her delectable body._ Then Ana shifted and something in her demeanor told him the morning was not going to go at his pace. _Get out of your head Grey. Let her cope._

He relaxed and began to retreat, to give her space, but a new sound held his gait for a second. It was quiet and faint, but he knew she was trying to hold back her sobs. He slid closer, in an effort to hold her, comfort her.

Instead, she was startled, and her petit shoulders drew up when he moved to touch her. She turned off her phone, and accepted him though, turning around to face him directly.

"Who was that?" he whispered, through a devilish grin that slid off his face in an instant. Ana was crying. A lot. She shook her head and looked over his bare chest. Her trembling hand reached out to touch him there above his heart, and he placed his hand over fingers, moist from wiping her eyes. He regarded her wet face and swollen pink lips, raw from snot and tears, and then his heart exploded in his chest at the sight of her, broken and brave.

They stared at each other, each at a loss to explain their own emotions. He wanted to press himself into her, pull her thighs up to wrap around him, kiss away her sorrow… Instead, he eyeballed that fucking phone resting in her left hand. Christian moved first, slowly, deliberately placing her hands behind her to grip the vanity top.

Ana tilted her head sideways and appeared to look back around his body, back at his bed… He squinted, perplexed by her expression beneath the teary anxiety. _Was it regret?_ Like regret that they didn't get to continue things?

 _Bullshit!_ In the middle of a stressful call, she's crying like crazy, she's thinking of sex with me in my bed? That's some fucked up shit. His body craved every part of her too, though. Asshole.

He itched for control, his jaw popping as he twisted his neck, to ease some foreign tension in his throat that made him want to take from her whatever he wanted. He damn well wanted all her tears. _She was his. Every part of her._ Had she not answered him yet?

"Who was that?" He was going to Dom up on her, whether she liked it or not. The hi-jinx from last night, the ache in his core, the empty need in his chest.

Was she panting now? _Who the fuck made her feel like that?_

She didn't answer. "Ana?"

She looked at him, his eyes met her glassy blues, and his heart pinched at the hurt he saw. These impulses were unnerving. He couldn't handle _feeling_ , so he kept shifting. To a comfortable place. If he made her come right now, while her body fought with these woes, that would get him off. It was surreal.

 _But who was on the phone?_

He gripped her body and plopped her down on the vanity, so her face and pussy were more accessible. And he let his jealousy, this new disgusting feeling, trickle further down his throat.

He studied her. Considered that the marble top might be cold under her ass, and he realized he didn't care.

Ana shifted where she sat and above her sniffles, her loud, almost moaned breathing, her eyes moved down his torso to his scars. Damn… she reached out, and traced their remnants as her breathing escalated. He gripped her wrist and held it at his waist. His eyes softened a fraction and they silently questioned again, _who were you talking to?_

Her chin lifted to look at him and he thought he saw defiance. And something even more dangerous—a fabrication was forming in her mind. Was she planning to lie? _His momentary thaw evaporated when he realized…_

"Now you're not talking?" She just continued to return his gaze above her visible breathing.

"Ana?" Fuck her. "Don't fucking quit talking now. Who the fuck were you on the phone with? It's Sunday morning, goddamnit. Who has you so worked up?" He shifted to his back leg, and muttered to himself. "Ana, who upset you?"

With a shaky voice, she began to offer some vague explanation, but he wasn't listening. Her shifting bloodshot eyes gave her away, looking anywhere but at him.

And he knew. He fucking knew she was lying. Did she think he was going to buy this shit?

The Dom in him hoped for it, the anticipation excited him and he needed this. He so fucking needed her to piss him off. _Come on baby, lie to me._ A thrill creeped down his spine and a warm enthusiasm numbed his fingertips. He felt his face heat, his lips spread out in a sneer, anticipating the snap.

He caught his reflection in the mirror behind her, and he saw himself rise to tower over her. It was his playroom posture. _With Ana? She is fueling this._

Christian blew harshly into her face as he leaned into her and laid his hands over hers. She was open to him, her thighs rubbed his hips where he stood between them, and her low seductive sounds never ceased. Her carnal demeanor was so fucking confusing. Right now, if he fucked her, would it be enough? Could fucking her ease the primal ache in his heart? _Lie to me, baby. Let me have it. I can work with that. I can fix you so fucking fast. Give it to me._

He waited and watched, as time slowed down and he settled into his comfort zone. He was aware of the razor thin edge he was perched on, a sharp painful edge. He arched his head back in disbelief. How could he find this with her? He was so fucking confused.

But she took the fucking phone call! No one made her take it. This wasn't a scene he'd planned. She invited this scene, maybe even manufactured it. Did she want him to take her like this?

She was toying with him, testing him and his control. He felt it. She tried to slip her hands out from under his, but he pressed his palms down, grounding into her knuckles. When he felt her phone there, he reflexively picked it up and threw it, she jumped as it popped and shattered behind him, all the while he kept leaning into her, as close as he could without grazing her pert nipples.

From their tight proximity, he thought he smelled the faintest hint of her latent arousal between her thighs, slightly dried, but still fresh and so erotic, clinging to her folds. His jaw clenched and he jammed once into her core. He pressed against her forcefully, dominating and glared down into her face.

There it was—he found what he was looking for. She was breaking and he was going to fuck her hard for it. His eyes glazed in satisfaction. His pulse quickened as he savored the moment, and paused to assess her state.

Ana's tears were mixed with the remnants of last night's mascara. Transparent black swirls tattooed her cheeks as they dribbled down over her puffed out lips, past her quivering chin, on down where they pooled in that feminine recess at the base of her neck. His eyes fixed on that spot, his fingers itched, and his tongue darted out, thirsty. He pressed his thumb into her throat harshly, and smeared the dirty water across her chest. She shuddered and groaned, and he knew she was wet.

He took a step back, trying to control his dark lust. He winced at his body's response, his taller posture, his aggravated breathing. She's so fucking perfect. The way she looked, spent and exhausted, destroyed. He couldn't have staged a more perfect scene, which left him painfully erect.

Her beautiful eyes begged, and her sweet murmur—his name passing over her innocent lips—finally got his attention.

"Goddamn it, Ana…" It was a plea, a warning. His own safe word, that he was nearing his limit. He wanted to do terrible things to her. As his energy shifted from comfort to control, his libido gained advantage. He turned away to press on his erection, offer himself the slightest relief. Then he kept moving, further away. Away from her and his power play. Away from the reflexive gripping in his core, an instinctive response to her crying, her fucking tears and vulnerability.

Ana sniffed loudly and called out. "Where did you go, we were talking." She could see his knees just beyond the threshold by the doorframe, where he was crouched down, hiding in the shadow cast between the rooms. Was this jealousy or dominance? He couldn't tell the difference.

"Ana…" he swallowed. What could he say? I love you, but I'm dangerous. You're in danger. "Ana, if I come to you now… I'm going to kiss you and I don't—"

"Yes, I want you too. I want—" her voice was determined, not intimidated. _No baby, not that kind of kiss._

"No, you don't. Not now. You don't understand." Her crying did something to him, fortified and broke him at once. She was too vulnerable. Christ, all his fucked up games made _him_ vulnerable. A groan from some vacant corner of his chest erupted up and made all his skin crawl He wanted to break her. She'd shudder at the irony if he had words to explain it. God her fucking tears, he didn't want her vulnerable when he took her.

Somewhere inside him—past all the dominating bullshit cluttering his mind, past his racing heartbeat and the control-driven lust fueling him—in a memory just beyond reach, a memory of a broken sleepless daughter, mourning her dead father, he found the strength to protect her.

"Ana, get dressed." He rubbed his forehead and stood, grabbing a t-shirt from the closet floor, "I'm going to make coffee and we'll talk."

* * *

Four fucking grand, and I can't get a fucking coffee. He pressed the buttons harder in a futile effort to erase his erection, to ease his… elation at Ana's exposed vulnerability in his bathroom. Jesus, she left herself so fucking exposed. _What is she doing to me?_ What was he going to do to her?

He clenched his jaw. If she's talking to that ex-boyfriend of hers this morning, it's damn well not about a goddamned missed rent payment. Fuck! He didn't need these strange feelings unfurling in his chest. He just wanted to have sex. And kiss her senseless. Now who's lying.

He didn't want to dominate her. _Did he?_ If she's going to slink out of his bed and get so worked up, crying and shit, over some prick on the phone… "Fuck—I haven't even touched her yet and… I need a fucking coffee." He mumbled.

The steamer kept pumping and pumping in a steady rhythm but there was no foam, nothing. It was completely dry. His long fingers wiggled and pulled on the cones to no avail. By his fifth attempt, some minuscule drops of hot milk seeped out, not the silky foam he craved. And not nearly enough to fill his cup.

He didn't like these feelings. Fuck maybe he did. Maybe it was a step forward—she didn't outright leave the apartment this morning. She stayed in his suite. If she'd really wanted privacy, she could have gone out on the terrace. Maybe she's scared…

Shit! The Miele whined and sputtered before erupting all over his hands, warm milk squirting out everywhere, coating his fingers, his hand. He slammed the machine with his forearm as movement caught his attention behind him.

 _Ana_ —dressed? …Sort of, she'd covered her enticing nightie—whatever the fuck it was, with his Harvard sweatshirt. She'd cleaned her pretty face and she wore a contrite expression. He scowled at her covered breasts, missing the delectable pale skin of her arms. Is she leaving? No no no. He stood slack-jawed. How the fuck had this morning gone so fucking sideways?

She sashayed over and pulled up beside him in his kitchen. _Yes, I have a $4000 coffee system, paid for by sedating Seattle's social x-rays, so they can get their procedures, their tucks, their freezes and reanimations, whatever the fuck they did to maintain their false beauty._

She and he stared at the Miele Wall Unit, shoulders brushing, leaning into one another, listening to the renewed rhythmic pumping and spurting hum of the steam unit. They stood in silence as the machine sputtered and moaned through another fruitless cycle.

"You think it's your plumbing?" she giggled. Christ, she's perfect.

They slowly turned to each other with matching delight, his lop-sided grin to her crooked smile. "There's nothing wrong my plumbing, Ana." He low hummed to emphasize his point, aaaand he recalled—vividly—her aroused body on top of his. Shifting himself had little effect.

Ana's own blush, which slowly began to compete with the crimson lettering on his sweatshirt, gave away that she was recalling similar dirty thoughts.

Her glow tugged at him to move, to press himself against her, and douse the crackling space between them— _God she is beautiful_ —or set a torch to it.

"I think it's the _cappuccinatore,_ " she declared with a smug Italian accent. She made him so fucking happy.

"Is that so?" He watched her fiddle with the wet hoses, and tug them off. His eyes found the ceiling, as it that would ebb his growing urge to take her.

" _Si_ ," she teased. "Why don't you just drink espresso like most hot brooding men?" She licked the sticky milk foam from her fingers, like nursing a lollipop, her tongue massaging every wet white knuckle of her own digits. _It's milk for Christ's sake!_ He was going to lose it. She mistook the low chuckle of his desperate situation as taunting.

"Stop it! You're the only man I know with a kitchen to die for—who claims he's some sort of, I don't know, Gordon Ramsey meets Jamie Dornan—and yet you have no clue how to use any of your gadgets."

"I know how to use one gadget…"

"Ow!" She sucked on the steam tube and winced. "Shit that's hot," she giggled at herself and licked her lips to sooth away the little burn.

Christin took a step back. Could he fuck her right now. Like this second? Would that be rude or uncouth?

"Ana…" He'd try a warning first. "I don't think I need—"

She dismissed him, tutting him away. "Alright, Doctor Smooth… why don't you just park it. The mistress of the kitchen has arrived. I'm in control now." Control?

He pounced, forcing her against him. His large hand curled around her neck and his mouth covered her beautiful lips, telling her exactly what he thought of her 'control.' That mouth of hers, the one he wanted so much on every part of him, responded gently when he pinned her to the counter, and rather than give over to the insistent carnal temptations he was giving, Ana kept her kiss tender, driving him wild.

He felt the hesitation in her lips, her mind scrambling to catch up to how he was already hard, pressing into her middle. He lifted her swiftly, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, but their lips never left each other. The eroticism of their connection was reflected in their matching moans.

After what felt like hours, he was so lost in the kiss, he stepped back and stared at her pretty face, at how aroused she made him in the morning light. So pure and innocent. Skin clean and fresh. Cheeks flush. Luscious lips irregularly splotchy and swollen. That little pink tongue that needed sucking.

Ana met his gaze with her own steady and piercing look that punched all the air from his lungs. Amidst the charged haze all around them, he realized he wasn't alone any more. _Fuck alone, she fucking owns me._ To seal the deal, he brushed his mouth across hers.

"My god you're gorgeous." What an inadequate word. Later, he'd invent words to describe how she made him feel. Her looks were the tip of the iceberg and he was sinking fast.

"Christian—" His mouth consumed hers at the same time his milky hands palmed her ass, tilting her warmth into his erection, eliciting a needy moan.

"Quiet." Her long legs squeezed around him, like she was testing how uncomfortably hard he was.

"Christian… I need—"

"I know what you need."

With her hot body secured against him he moved them toward the hall. Had his bedroom always been this fucking far from the kitchen? Fuck! God if he didn't get inside her soon, her hard nipples poked and bounced on his chest and he lost his balance. He stumbled into the wall and bit her lips. It was obscene. He left no inch of her mouth unmarked.

She laughed. Fucking laughed at him. "Mmmmm. You're not going to fall asleep on me again are you?"

"Do you want me to fall asleep?"

"No." Squeezing her legs, she leaned back from her perch in his arms, trying to pull up his shirt.

"Careful baby." She stilled at his endearment, smirking, a sexy knowing scowl.

"This needs to come off. No. I don't want you to fall asleep."

"That depends on you, doesn't it?" His smile grazed her neck as he planted open mouthed kissed behind her ear.

"Ahh. Wait…" Her back arched and she withdrew, breathless. "The coffee machine." He rolled his eyes and growled.

"Later." He moved them off the wall and shuffled down the hall. Inside his room, he released her, letting her slowly slide down his length until she was standing in front of him panting with desire.

He was overcome with such a familiar feeling, but it was far from familiar. It was so extraordinarily unusual, he was caught off-guard. And when Ana's trembling fingers curled around the hem of his shirt, to undress _him_ , he retreated. Searching for safety in this sea of need.

Fuck he was pissed. Frustrated that he wanted to control this, frustrated that he knew that this incredible woman deserved more. A small part of his mind was planning the scene, how he would take her. It was the urge. He needed it, it was all he knew.

When she whipped his shirt over his head, her face brushed across his sternum sending wisps of pure lust throughout his body. His own erratic breathing caught him, brought him back, and her affectionate eyes, naughty and needy told the story. And fuck he couldn't look away now, she was hynoptizing him. This wasn't about his release, this wasn't about control. This was about losing control. Fucking hell. I want this, I want to drown in her.

And this moment, the acknowledgment behind her eyes, that she wanted him to satisfy her own cravings, it crystalized—he was in love with the woman, and she wanted his love. Her alluring energy and blushing body demanded it. And it was so true, from the first moment he saw her, she'd been seducing him, little by little, until they arrived here.

"I want you Ana. I want to do so many things to you, for you." She hummed her approval. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you and those pretty hands of yours. Once this starts, I think… my control will snap. I don't think... I don't think I'll be able to pull away." _Ever._ "My need for you is… consuming me." He held her face in his hands, his fingers rubbing the curve of her neck, his thumbs skating over her lips, his breath marking her. He pleaded in warning, "Ana, this is your only chance to walk away from me."

* * *

xXx

 _Thank you for reading and reviewing. I admit it, I love every single follow and favorite. It means so much. xoxo Mrs Caron._


	15. Chapter 15 She's a Wish

**I dedicate this chapter to SDaisyS who helped inspire me to write. She is an important person to me and I send my love. xoxo Mrs Caron**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 15 — She's a Wish**

 _Sunday, August 6_

"I want you Ana. I want to do so many things to you. I've wanted you since the moment I saw you and those pretty hands of yours. Once this starts, I think… my control will snap. I don't think I'll be able to pull away." _Ever_. "My need for you is… consuming me." They were so close. He held her face in his hand, his fingers rubbing the curve of her neck, his thumb skating over her lips, his breath marking her. "Ana this is your only chance to walk away from me."

A flicker of sadness marred her gorgeous eyes. Maybe she'd misunderstood him, or she was speechless. Their eyes locked. Myriad emotions flooded them and he saw flashes of need and lust and love—she felt it too. Ana cupped her hands around his, and held it against her cheek. Her chin turned in and she kissed his palm, while she giggled through a response.

He chuckled along with a perplexed look on his face, not knowing what she'd said. She licked her bottom lip and he watched her tongue connect with his thumb where she held it, then slipped it in her mouth. As she sucked, she slowly shook her head no. His groin thrust forward on its own. "Ana?"

She bit down before popping him out of her mouth. "Walk away… from you? I don't care if you lose control. I'm counting on it."

"I don't think you know what you're saying."

She held her arms above her head. "Are you kidding? Please get me naked. I want to ravage you."

"That's my line, angel." In one fast motion her pulled her gown and his sweatshirt over her head, then she was naked.

She straightened her hair back down. "And who says I want to be able to walk?" Her arms were around him immediately, she kissed him with such force that she bounced off him.

Thank fuck it was daylight because her pale skin, almost translucent, pinked by arousal, was a vision as the sun bathed her dips and curves in it's golden glow.

Christian couldn't think straight. _All of her._ He wanted all of her all at once. He shifted back slightly to take in his first look at Ana's naked body.

She was perfect. Aside from his synaptic physical responses, he felt the room fractionally close in. A moan escaped him as he shook his head slightly, his shoulders slumped and he fought a lightheaded wave, as though the color was draining from his face. When she moved her small hands to cover herself, his gaze refocused and he gasped at the realness of her.

"Don't." He pulled her hands away and drank in her luscious body. Her delicate shoulders were wider than her hips, and her torso tapered down to her petit waist highlighted by those sexy hips and toned middle. He swallowed his wavering suspicions, and sucked down the desire soaking his mouth, watering over the triangle between her thighs. His mind was still wrestling with his body, a struggle of waning willpower to worship her. Literally worship her body. Sink to his knees and indulge all the crazy impulses seizing him. How tight was she? Fuck he was greedy.

Ana naked, completely nude floored him. When had he last entertained a completely naked woman? Without restraints or harnesses? No distracting trusses or lace? He grimaced off an echo in his head. _There was something else._ Something that made him reach up and place his hand across her chest, to feel her heartbeat. She held onto his wrist and brought his hand to her mouth. She ghosted her lips across his knuckles. Slowly, she kissed each of his fingers as she swayed slightly, smiling at him whispering, "Did I tell you I want you?"

 _She was unmarked._ He pulled his hand back at the revelation and stiffened. Usually by the time… by the time his… _they_ were standing in front of him, he'd marked them. Sometimes, in many selfish, brutal ways. Blindfolded, unable to see his reactions, his own physical responses. He darted his dazed expression away from her. _Fucking asshole, she can't handle you._

"Christian, I want you." His name on her lips, her swollen and empty mouth purring for him, brought him back. He exhaled his memories and looked again at the beauty before him.

In shadow on her right side was a small scar, but he didn't have time to accept any of her defects now, because she'd turned back and looked to the unmade bed behind her. Her tits, full and pert, swaying with the motion. Her pink nipples were the same pink of her lips, hardened and alert. _She was a wish._ This first sight of them pointed and so fucking pink, aroused and demanding, needing his mouth—needing his teeth to hold them while he wiggled his tongue over an over driving her wild. His mouth moistened again.

He took a moment to memorize Ana's blushing beauty, before dragging his eyes back over her sun-kissed skin to meet her eyes. Pale blue. Luminous and haunting. If he couldn't admit how he felt about her before, the mesmerizing creature in front of him obliterated any control he ever had, and the last tendrils of restraint ebbed away as need and desire consumed him. _Desire_. Desire for Ana.

"Ana—" In a move so unlike him, he feathered his lips across her forehead and sniffed her hair, resting the side of his face in her bangs. Could he give her this? He tried on a reassuring smile as he met her eyes again. "Have you ever been with someone like me?"

She blew out a heavy breath, blinking away an emotion and simply stared at him. "Just stop."

He tipped his head to correct her and spoke over her low sigh. _"Have you?"_

The trill in her throat left him drunk. It was an audible swallow—did she blink back a tear—and quickly shook her head, suddenly very interested in the trim on the lamp shade. He turned her shaky chin back to him and pierced her with a steely stare. "I'll take care of you." _Then fuck you so hard you scream yourself hoarse. Try to use your phone after that._

Her teeth soothed her swollen lips and he rose to tower over her, before he grabbed her, tipping her head back to look up into his eyes. "I want that lip," he growled.

They kissed like old lovers who'd been separated by famine or drought, grabbing tiny breaths when they could, catching air between their lips. He wanted to bruise her lips, her mouth. And yes, goddamn it! Make her scream so loud she couldn't talk on the phone anymore. Her noises were his. How big an orgasm could he give her? He pulled back, his own eyes wide at his possessive thoughts.

"You chew on this pretty lip all the time like you're holding back." He strummed it with his thumb. "Normally I like that very much. But you have a habit of talking to another that's driving me fucking crazy." She winced at his words. And bit harder on her lip to fight the moan, but he still heard it. He was already losing control and he hadn't even touched her.

She blinked away her shyness—and nodded again, the tiny noises in her throat enthralled him—and the thin ice below his feet slipped a little more. She took advantage and kissed him senseless, moving her mouth over his lips, pushing her tongue into his. He could feel her smiling, almost laughing. _Incredible_. His hands, which had been gripping her smooth hips to control her movements—pointless he knew—slowly loosened and released as her fervor, her warm skin, the smell of her consumed him.

She ran her fingers over his chest and held onto his pajama bottoms, her hands dancing around his belly button. Tiny electric pulses lit up his scars and he fought himself to let her continue. He may have snorted. She kissed his broad chest and neck, all the while sighing—almost humming—her affection. Her enthusiasm.

He pressed against her, and stilled to feel her tiny fingers, each with their own little pulses lighting his skin up. He fucking needed this, her body on his, the feel of her. _That was new._ Her sweet lips vibrated almost, these new sensations were driving him wild. How much time passed while they simply leaned into each other, stoking and slaking their hunger? It didn't matter.

When he opened his eyes, which he did several times, to confirm he was indeed awake, Ana's blue irises were staring back at him. He held her head and her crystal gaze. His erection pressed into her middles and erotic love coursed through him like blood. With sincerity he brushed his lips across her cheek and sighed, "Anastasia."

She managed to nod her head with a tiny motion, while her mouth slackened. She fluttered her tongue before silently mouthing _Christian Grey._ And fuck if that wasn't the hottest, most vexing thing. Her squeezed her tighter. She'd given him exactly what he'd always required. Her silence. And it pissed him off. To the man who demanded silence from his partners, Ana's sweet voice was everything. He wanted all her sounds. Dreamt of them.

He stepped back one final time to absorb the moment with her: Ana's flushed body, aroused and heaving. Her perfect brilliant face, smiling wide in symbiotic submission. He was about to claim the most beautiful woman in the world. And she was about to claim him, and whatever slim chambers of light inside of him she'd ignited. He could feel the dark chasm in his chest ease way. A new something took its place. In that moment, he admitted to himself that he'd fallen overboard and was bobbing and floating in the Sea of Ana, and would never swim away. He needed a storm gauge to navigate, a beacon, a familiar totem.

' _Take out my cock.'_ The words fluttered through his head, but he held them back. He didn't want that now. But she was one step ahead of him, her shaking hand slid down the front of his pajamas to rub him through the thin cotton panels. She nodded at his groan. With his dick pressed against her, he felt her shimmy forward. He clutched her to him, and felt her try to pull away to look at him, but he wasn't interested her appraisals right now. Only getting her to climax, only getting inside her. Really? Who was lying now?

He wrenched her hands up and guided them to his shoulders. He mapped his hands down her front, pressing his index fingers into her collar bone, to replace where he'd smeared her makeup earlier, when he was so pissed she was on the phone. He'd deal with that later.

He lifted her up to carry her the short distance to the bed, and he had to bite down on her shoulder to stifle his groan when his hands snaked down and touched that soft spot under the dip of her ass. He imagined it was probably the most succulent part of Ana's incredible body. With her legs around him, he couldn't help but fondle the soft spaces where her perfect ass cheeks met her thighs. He couldn't wait to run his tongue over it. He realized his touch was driving her crazy. She bowed into him when he slid his hand up her back, across her rib cage, tickling the underside of her breast before rubbing his thumb and middle finger around her pointed nipple.

"Come, I have things I need to do to you." He moved her toward the bed, the entire time kissing and nipping and trying to distract himself from the wet heat at the apex of her thighs that marked him with every slight move. Aware of her own power, Ana pressed into him harder, encouraging him. He sensed tension building from her wanton caress, then she hummed with a roll, attempting to release the build up between them. He bit her chin to distract her. Like hell she was gonna get off rubbing herself against him.

When his legs hit the bedside, he let her go and she straightened up on her knees to kneel on the bed, her face a little higher and closer to his. She tried to pull his pajama bottoms down again and succeeded, getting them past his hips where gravity took over and they quickly slid to the floor.

Suddenly, a rumbling belt of thunder cracked overhead and the few lights around them flickered. A rush of breathlessness forced a smile to his lips and his heart beat a staccato rhythm as he stood naked before his girl. Exposed, unprotected.

For the first time in a lifetime, Christian had to fight an impulse to hug himself. He cleared his throat to mask his lost ability to speak. Ana's heated appraisal was obvious. With her hands poised to reach out, and her tongue creeping out of the corner of her mouth, she didn't attempt to hide her surprise and excitement. Slowly, she walked her eyes up his toned body. Maybe he flexed a little for her, enjoying her objectification, her X-ray vision piercing him with a stormy intensity.

When her eyes found his, they were swimming with licentious invitation. If he could peer into her far enough, her vision might match his own. A shy smirk decorated her face as she pulled his hands to her sides. "I'm nervous, Christian." She sucked in a breath when he pulled her neck toward him, then he held her chin in his hand, ignoring for the moment her hard nipples bouncing in rapid rhythm against his chest.

"You're safe for now." When he moved his mouth to hers he deliberately slowed down, to ground himself, to memorize the feel of her breath over him, to absorb everything that was about to change. He wanted this with her. More than anything, he wanted this. Her passion, the connection. His slow kiss made her lean in, pillowing her chest between them. She hummed for more, and her vocal frustration only encouraged him to keep it slow. It was a form of submission. His own submission to the very real moment they were sharing.

The cool air around them had shifted as the clouds outside shrouded the sun and cast the room in a lavender aura of calm. But the tack wasn't because of the electric storm brewing beyond the windows. The change was within them, within the anticipation of their coupling. Christian would later describe this insistent carnal kissing as the humidity of his heartbeat. When that space between his heartbeats filled with Ana's warm affection, the only other person he ever wanted to make room for. He poured all these thoughts and conditions into their connection, into her mouth, her eye lids, along her chin and her neck. To reassure her. He was really in this. He was trying.

Finally, she sang her needs, a breathy longing. "I'm sure. I'm sure, I'm sure." she sensed his shift, but mistook his reverence for hesitation.

"Baby, I want you." He rubbed her everywhere, his hands marking her goose-pimpled skin. "I want to feel you underneath me." Her body thrummed in rhythm to his words, the quiet hunger between them did something. "Feel you pulse around me," he whispered against her temple and pressed himself against her. He cocked his head back a fraction to confirm she was still with him. He raised his eyebrows, a scene forming in his mind. Fuck he didn't want to scene this. _Shit!_

She frowned at what must have been the flicker of indecision on his face. She held his face and leaned her dewy forehead into his chin. "I'm sure. It's alright. Can we figure everything out later?" She snaked her hands down his neck, around his shoulders, slowly… massaging and caressing… down over his chest, then across his muscular abdomen where she traced her fingers around the exposed scars on his skin. His body clenched in awe. "I want all of you too," Ana stuttered out between breaths. How she knew, he'd never find out.

He grabbed her wrists and moved them back to his chest. Then she sat back on her heels, and worked the corner of her mouth over between her teeth. "I want to see you too." She admitted with a shy whisper. "You're a beautiful man."

He stood with his hands still gripping hers. But as sex-fueled gaze took him in, he lowered his arms to his side, his own reticent smile winning out over the jumbled emotions on his face. He liked her seeing him, even though he wanted to hide his war-ravaged body, his own sins and demeanors, the vile scars that laced around his waist.

He held his breath at what he knew was coming, even though he knew the moment she saw his scars. Her eyes were full of concern, her brow furrowed. Disgust flashed for a moment before they locked back on his. "Christian? Are those—"

He knew the moment was coming. It had been in his mind since he first saw her, since she first saw him—saw through all his Dominant bullshit in the elevator. _'I know who you are.'_

He'd known too during those overnights, when he'd thought of nothing else for hours but slowly owning every inch of her, he'd thought of nothing but her lovely fingers massaging his ugly flesh and soothing his aching soul. He'd prepared himself for her to look at him, to see him. But now, with tenderness in her eyes, and pity washing up her chest, to her throat, ready to speak—goddamn it. He couldn't take it.

With a heavy hand he reached out and brushed over her face, from the top of her head down to her chin, closing her eyes, shame winning the battle within him.

"Not now," he pushed out past a lump in his throat, yanking her to him in a demanding kiss that told her he was still in control. He was finished with the carnal feast of kissing and moaning and tongues skimming everywhere and little love bites and noses and teeth. He needed to taste her.

"Lie down, Ana. Lie back. Close your eyes baby." She looked like an angel, pale and perfect, lying against his dark blue sheets. He'd never paid attention to the color of his linens, only in so far as to confirm they were different than those at the Drone, the hospital or Felix's sleep clinic. The navy sheets in his bedroom were a safe guard, in case he woke up high, he would immediately know where he was by the bed linens. Except now, he'd order several more, because Ana's beautiful body was framed by the inky blue cotton and they made her eyes glow. _What the fuck?_

"But I want to see you too." He eased his body over hers, and propped himself up on his elbows. He smiled, savoring the length of her soft form underneath him. He kissed her more deeply than he ever had. Did he know where her hands were? If he gave over to those impulses, to control her exploration of him. But there wasn't time, his needs were mounting fast, his body demanded the singular connection he could share with her that he'd never felt before. "I want to see you."

"I know baby." She reached up and moved a lock of hair from his forehead and pulled him down to her with a kiss that begged for more, that expressed how she had little control left herself, that let Christian know her senses had taken over. She was conceding her demand to another time, a distant place. With her rapid kisses and soft caresses, her strong palms tattooing his skin, _she_ was consuming _him_.

Christian moaned from deep in his body and licked down Ana's arched neck, burying his nose in her sternum. "Close those blue eyes now." He turned on his side and slipped her lids closed, kissing each symmetrical part of her face, her eye brows, her eye lids, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth, her tiny dimples revealed when his kisses made her ticklish.

He skated his palm across her breast, barely touching her. On his return motion, he switched to a pair of fingers, and slipped his thumb around the underside to elicit an arching sigh from her. He teased her warm skin this way across her chest, until his mouth finally closed around the tight peak of her beaded nipple. He growled against her soft skin and rubbed his stubble around her skin.

He held her there fighting his own strong impulse to suckle her. He remained still, so only the tiny current of his breath tickled her chest, and she had to wonder what he'd do next. He responded when she arched in frustration. Her first scream erupted when he pinched her one nipple while he bit down and suckled the other. At the same time his cock twitched. Whether at her strangled sounds or the feel of her cool agitated skin between his teeth. Did it matter?

Ana continued to cry out as he worked her over. He was greedy for her sighs, her growing peaks between his lips. His mouth was watering, marking her with his saliva. His free hand molested her other breast, rolling squeezing, almost painfully he was sure—what where her limits? Not now.

She was getting wetter from his ministrations. Her thighs rubbed for relief, she rolled her hips, shifting, trying to help herself over the edge he was pushing her. Her nipples tightened and he could tell she was close, she moaned deeply and shifted. "Soon, baby." His teeth gripped her other nipple, and he started the whole process over again. She continued to build, she needed a release and her heaving chest and her sensual panting all but begged him to do more. She was so turned on.

Small hands worked their way into his hair as he moved down her body, kissing and sucking, nibbling, toward her writhing stomach. "I control your orgasms now, understand." Her body bore the evidence of his mouth's languid trail until his morning stubble scraped across the top of her mons and the little strip there.

"Mmmm," he hummed with his forehead pressed against her abdomen. Even as he did it, he sensed a playful intimacy he'd never known. It was an unusual move. He smiled against her hip bone, and she giggled a moan since it tickled her, or she was nervous. He'd fix that. He cinched his hands up under her ass and hummed along the apex of her thighs, "Do you want to come Ana?" He felt her nod, and looked up to see her press her head back into the pillow. He smirked thinking about what he knew was coming.

Without a word, he slid a finger up and down her slit, an introduction, and moaned his satisfaction when he pushed in between her folds, sliding back and forth. Her feet sought leverage below him, and she tilted her hips to escape the sensations.

"Ohmygod" Ana yelled. "Please I want to watch."

He shook his head and nipped at her hood, but answered anyway. "Later. Keep them closed."

As his finger circled inside her pulsing core, he bit his tongue—only after her name had puffed out, betraying his satisfaction at her glistening flesh below, her scent, her muscles responding.

"Baby, feel how wet you are for me. And tight. Let me in." He added another finger and began to slowly finger fuck her, prolonged strokes in and out. She brought her hands to her face, then arched her back, shifting her core down to change the angle. His kiss bounced off her, "Patience Ana. I want to burn you up baby."

His other hand parted her, held her open, while he continued his torturous lazy circles inside her, rubbing that special rough spot lightly. Her clit was firm and hard, inches from his eager mouth. Her escalating sighs were his signal to inhale her dainty scent and blow cool air across her mound.

She cried in appeal to release already, but he held her off, reaching up and pinching her nipple. Her climax was only one part of pleasuring her, getting her ready. To excite her enough to handle him, with what he had going on, he had to make sure she tented to take him in. Her body's grip on his fingers was so tight, he needed to take his time, work her warm little pussy up with his mouth. He withdrew his fingers and tapped then light and fast on the skin where her thighs met her swollen lips, while he licked his own.

He was beyond eager, focused solely on this moment, THE moment, when he pressed his mouth into Ana's dripping pussy. With his tongue flat, he licked and laved and adored her center. She pulsed with pleasure, as he curled and stroked her, tasting every plump dip and fold. He pointed his tongue and wiggled it over her clit, working it up again into a tight little bindle, only to flatten his tongue, dousing her with his saliva, tasting. Yes, almost… He shifted to temper his own body's hunger.

She was so close. He pushed two long fingers back in to rub that sweet spot, to add a little discomfort and slow her down. She was tight, her core undulating to fall over. He fucking waited, let her get hotter, wetter, needier, because he knew when he finally breached her, it was going to hurt.

Her hands were back, twisting his hair above him. She cried out her delight and vocalized all the moving and bucking her body wanted, but he'd restrained her legs with his forearms. Christ, she tasted pretty. His jaw and soaking chin joined in pleasuring her. "Ana," he hummed into her hole, his body's approval at her keening cries.

With his face buried between her thighs, he teased her mercilessly. His tongue continued to lavish her slit with care, back and forth, until every curve was wet and rippling. "Mmm baby." His slick fingers pressed back on either side of her clit and he danced the tip of his tongue on her tiny little bud. Finally, three fingers scissored inside her, stretching her, heating her up completely. He replaced his tongue with his thumb, and began a fast tempo against her skin. "That's it." Time to move. He wanted to see her face when she came.

He kissed her clit sensually, and moved up her length, his mouth open, his tongue worshiping her thrumming skin. He was content to kiss over her like this for some time. Too content—he was flying. He teased Ana's body, nipping and brushing in places he was sure no one had ever touched before. It was his own massage of her. She alternated between stilted sighs and crying him name, imploring him to do more. All the while, his fingers leisurely continued their massage. After some time, his fingers thoroughly fucking her senseless. She just writhed like a cat in heat. And she was the most dazzling thing he'd ever seen.

He mind came back to her pussy and her pending orgasm. "Not yet." He gritted out, and then her whole body stiffened. His pulled his soaked fingers up to his mouth for a quick sip, then wiped her arousal over her lower lip, his licked and dove his tongue into her mouth, mingling their tastes. Then his thumb was back down on her, pressing into her clit hard, while he snuck his fingers back inside her, curling his knuckles and rubbing fast. She tried to ease herself against his erection where it bobbed against her. Her hands ground into his hips, palms flat, fingers stiff. He felt her wet heat sliding against his abdomen, her hips rounding a tempo like she was humping the sheets.

"It's okay, I've got you." He rasped against her ear, and she yelled out her orgasm in a loud explosion of sound and rippling muscles. He beamed, lost in her alluring face coming undone. His skimmed his hand over her neck to hold her in place, their bodies were so slick with lust and sex. But it couldn't stop her natural reaction to the release he'd unearthed. And just as he slowed his juicy fingers to ease her down, help her ride out her climax, her body jolted again.

"Christian!" She wailed—eyes open, moist.

"Jesus Christ" she came again, clamping down on his fingers, and he let himself groan at the force of her climax. He stared at her raptured face in awe. _That was…_ What could she possibly be thinking? What was he thinking? He couldn't process his body's reactions, his heart stuttered in his chest, and he felt on fire and numb at once. Making Ana come had been one of the single most satisfying moments of his life.

Christian kissed her gently, to soothe her, because he knew that second orgasm was intense. She'd flooded his hand, her whole body shaking. He smirked at himself, enjoying her guttural moans, she was losing her voice. She was so fucking loud, it satisfied him. Her phone skills would be compromised for some time.

It was natural for him to discount the floating sensation he experienced. His kaleidoscope of responses, and the tense waves that left him off-balance were nothing more than his own tired muscles. His cardio systems had simply reacted before his cock, that was all. She'd been just as deeply effected too, by her physical release.

Although when her thrilled eyes found his, it was he who was breathless, trying to calm his own response to her orgasm. He laced kisses along her shoulder while his body burned to have her wrapped around him completely. "Now I'm going to fuck your pretty little cunt."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Thank you so much for all of your support and feedback.**

 **It means so much.**

 **I read and response to every review.**


	16. Chapter 16 No Life Jacket

**_Happy New Year! Please enjoy :) Shout out to all my friends in the Playroom of the FSOG Sisterhood. It's such a pleasure xoxo Mrs Caron_**

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 16 — No Life Jacket**

 _Sunday, August 6_

The first time Christian thought of fucking Ana, they were standing in his kitchen, where else, and Ana was poking through his drawers looking for a pair of shears to snip the strings from the boxed pastry she'd brought over for dessert that Tuesday night—that week of her sleep deprivation.

It was a fantasy. The way she wound up the baker's red and white twines around her hands before discarding them reminded him of his own red ropes upstairs. He imagined walking around the counter and swooping her up over his shoulder, carrying her toward his playroom. As he crossed the living room floor, scenes ricocheted through his mind—her bound, tied up, kneeling or hanging. The energy radiating from her soft body draped over his excited him and lit a fuse he'd not felt before.

Just as he landed the first cupped slap to her panty-clad ass, Ana reared up, erect, and slid her nubile body down his torso as they walked, until she landed standing on the second riser of the free standing staircase that led to his favorite room on Earth, his 'Dom Palace,' as Leila dubbed it. The playroom.

They stood eye to eye. But in his fantasy, instead of clenching his grip tighter when Ana tried to free her hands, where he held them at the small of her back, he relaxed his fingers and watched as she slowly took a moment to present her palms to him… for what… a fucking inspection? Before walking her fingers up his chest, over his shoulders, and around his neck. His eyes went to her own neck, normally not visible to him from their height difference, and he imagined he could see her pulse set a blistering pace under her ivory skin.

"I want you Christian." She mouthed to him in her imaginary mute voice. And that silence set him off. He reached under her now loose fitting skirt, magically morphed to facilitate his fantasy, and found her pantyless, her chilly naked ass cheeks covering the hot creamy center he was losing his mind over. With two of his fingers buried inside her, she pressed Christian's shoulders down, pushing on his head until her tangy folds covered his face. He inhaled her fresh musk and he licked her up and down, missing none of her incredible swollen flesh, until she was ready. She twisted his hair and tugged through her own sighs of pleasure.

His quick hands undid his pants and freed his painfully erect cock. At the same time he rose to stand, lining himself up to her core, he pulled her hips down and reveled in her wanton cry. Finally! As he thrust up into her willing body, he wrapped her tightly against his vibrating torso. Very carefully, he tipped them back so they were splayed across the stairs, his knees on the first step, separating her thighs. He withdrew to his crown, then thrust up forcefully to announce his claim. Ana perched her elbows on a higher stair, and watched their union, moaning each time he connected deep within her channel, her full tits bouncing, her puckered nipples teasing his tongue. She knew better than to look at him.

Apparently, enough time had passed that he'd made himself dizzy, standing in his kitchen staring at her, mouth agape, knees locked to prevent charging at her. He was speechless, dazed by his vision of taking her. Where was his fucking control? Did he care about his release? She wasn't blindfolded or gagged. It was as though Ana's proximity had stirred up enough buried shit to fill a treasure chest, all of his safeties were gone, he was laid bare. Here he was in his own home, with a seriously sleep deprived woman, who couldn't even do her job, and he wanted to fuck her senseless on the stairs? He was the one who'd lost his senses. A drunk sensation surged through him and he was forced to asked Ana to repeat her question.

* * *

Now, with his brunette beauty keening below him, sighs falling from her sexy mouth, he couldn't recall how he'd rescued himself that night. But he didn't give a fuck. He was about to have Ana. This 'piece of ass' that had wormed her way into his heart. He stared down at her and licked his lips, savoring her enticing pussy taste. "You're ready baby." He ground down into the apex of her thighs.

Acutely aware that Ana had a strange look in her eye, he paused a second—his body over hers again—to give her a chance to say something. He caught a distant gloom as it flitted past her eyes. A moment's panic gathered in his throat, but with a quick moan of her own, Ana fluttered her eyelashes and rolled her eyes back as she arched her chest up to meet his. He was disoriented, with her lying below him, like a… lover. And before he could recalibrate, resume his power play, he blurted into her face on a half breath, "Ana. You taste so pretty, baby. Did you know that?"

She simply panted expectantly, and maintained that same dazed look in her beautiful eyes. Nevertheless he shifted back and raised up on his haunches. Ana followed, propping herself up on her elbows to watch him. With his aching cock fisted in his hand, he pumped as he slid his body forward, his knees spreading Ana's warm thighs.

How long had he thought about this moment? Their mutual sighs polluted his thoughts and he had trouble concentrating on his plans—how would he take her?

When she saw him completely erect, Ana skitted back a bit, curling herself toward the headboard.

He grinned and shook his head. "You're not going anywhere." He tugged her hands down her sides until she dropped, lying flat below him. With light fingers, he grabbed both her ankles and shifted them closer, in line with his hips to force a deeper drive when he entered her. They groaned at the same time, when the new position forced her sex to weep more of her arousal. "Jesus baby."

She was full of surprises. A dozen comments passed through his mind to remind her of her place, and he averted his eyes, only to be brought right back by her incredible voice. She slowly moaned his name in a plea that lingered, or maybe it just echoed in his head, the newness of it. The raw need. _Christiannnnn_

He found safety staring into her beautiful face, looking for any hesitancy. Not that he'd indulge it. He was going to fuck her within an inch of her life. He was so primed, so elated with this turn of events, he found he needed the opposite control with her. To control his emotions, to keep his affection in check. It was new and a challenge. He needed the distraction right now. Her divine pussy lips were still glistening, slick from the pleasure he'd given her. "You're so wet." Ana's perfect body writhing below him was incredible. Too much almost. His growl almost begged, when she spread her legs a little more and rolled her nipples between her fingers.

"We're safe?" he asked, then waited, huffing out a laugh out when nodding was all she could manage, her eyes glued to his fist as he worked long slow strokes over himself. He was dazed too, and it was better she didn't talk at this point. His mind was thrumming with his heartbeat and their matched pants, need overtaking most of his motor functions.

She responded to the sight with her whimpers, and bucked up toward him. He cupped her pussy as he shifted his weight over his forearm, hovering above her, and mumbled his sincere affection for her exquisite anatomy, laid out for his pleasure. "We'll go slow baby." She nodded. Her brilliant smile, and the tear escaping down to her hairline drew all the air from his lungs.

His ass clenched and his core contracted, his chest cavity throbbed and the sudden combustible feelings within him sent a shivering quake out over every primed inch of his skin. He tongued her mouth and grasped her lip between his teeth, breathing like some crazed wolf over her face. This woman. He was coming undone and he'd not even penetrated her yet.

Fuck, he couldn't process how Ana made him crave her with a desire he'd never known. His fingers began a slow, jagged slide up her middle, her body coiled, needing, responding wherever his lazy hand trailed. She leaned her head to the side to expose her neck, encouraging him to move his mouth down her jaw. He pressed down on her, to push her further against him as her humming mouth licked and dipped below his clavicle.

He cried out suddenly, when Ana's tender fingers wrapped around him. He could only repeat himself when wave after wave of charged reactions twisted him up. When was the last time a woman held his cock in her hands, stroked him? Clearly his mouth only rule for his subs had been a fucking horrible mistake.

"Mm, Christian… You're so soft … so hard at once." It was all he could do to maintain himself under her determined fumbling, her lilting sex kitten tones. But maybe it was only Ana. _Only Ana._ He couldn't think of anything beyond her hands, her kind, graceful touches, her skin on his skin, her body below his, her control over… _everything_. Spurred by her slight tug, he arched into her hand. If he was going to fuck her, he needed to get her fingers off his dick, or this would end with her hands marked instead.

"Ana, my turn. It's time baby." Then, he looked into her eyes. Grey to pale blue, rubbing her ear lobe in his fingers. She closed her eyes and kissed his wrist, leaning up to leave a trail of her own affection down the line of his jaw.

"Christian" she whispered… and stared through him, her eyes welling with tears. She buried her head in his neck. "I'm ready." Her rasped words were a seductive murmur against his neck. With an exhale that sounded like a resigned allowance, she settled back down against the pillows. He swirled his head into her cleft one final time, to gather as much moisture as he could.

He grinned like a cat as entered her with a long, slow glide. And she sighed. Holy fuck— How could such a small sound from such a delicate creature make him lose his mind? The world around them ceased to exist, it faded into the dull oblivion where Christian Grey spent most of his life, waking or medicated.

The moment it happened, the moment he turned himself over to her, hissing her name into her mouth, it was so easy to let go, to push off the last bands of control, to shrug out of his life vest—and fuck if this was the first moment he felt alive in his fucked up life.

Her lust-filled eyes searched his. She stripped everything away. She made him feel. His guarded ways, the false intimacy he wrapped himself in—she peeled it all back. He was raw. He was vulnerable. _This_ was intimacy, and he was helpless.

It overpowered him, as he lingered above her, connected so sensually. The weird pressure in his chest, he needed to ease it. It hit in waves and crushed him, bore down on him with an ache he couldn't ease—he wanted to resist it as the constriction moved out to his shoulders and under his arms. Was he having a heart attack? "Ana," he forced out again past his throat when really, all the air had been pinched from his lungs the moment he slid into her and seated himself safely inside.

"You feel like—" he felt her tense at his words, at his swollen cock now stretching her channel to its limits.

"Yes—"

"I'm going to move baby. You with me?" He kissed her gently and tapped the outside of her thigh, encouraging her to wrap her leg around his hip, to open up more. She licked both her lips and her eyes grew wide. She began a smile, but with his first move, she winced it off.

He was floating. In this stunning moment, with this darling woman. He felt so young and the tension from her warm body wrapped around him was like nothing else he'd known.

"Ahh… I'm ready." Still staring into her face, he found her hands and laced them in his, and brought them over her head at the same time she bit her lip.

Control. The word flashed through his mind, and he felt that sinful sweat accumulating in the small of his back, it haloed out in a rash of passion, driving his hips into her pelvis.

" _You're so fucking tight,"_ he growled out, squeezing her hands in his. She tensed from his size, his length. "Shh… Relax." He scraped his chest across her, to irritate her nipples, all the while pulsing slowly, pushing further, deeper with each thrust. He released one hand and slid his own down under her ass, to the sweet spot where her thigh met her pussy. He hummed at the feel of her, giving her a glancing touch. "Let me in, baby."

With every intention of reaching her end, he kissed her tenderly as he slid in deeper, stretching her, hoping the burning feeling she must be experiencing faded. When he was fully sheathed inside her, a garbled curse came out and he stilled his body. Her own swear followed. He grinned against her face, at her wanton desire, and it was an exhilarating feeling to know she was going over the edge with him. He found her hands again to ground himself, to seize back what? _Control?_ He hissed at the irony.

Below him, he felt Ana shift, her velvet walls clenching around him, her core tightening when she pushed up and lifted her head to see their union, her breath trickling over his chest.

"Ana," he scolded her, "don't do that again."

She plucked her head back down giggling, "sorry." Which earned her the first of a series of deep penetrating strokes. Christian pulled all the way out to his tip, then slowly slid his thick length back and forth through her, a swivel on the end that left no part of her untouched. Ana's breath hitched with each thrust but she only squeezed his hands tighter, bit her lip harder, and lifted her other leg around his torso and encouraged him to continue, arching her back up in need.

She was the most exquisite woman he knew, even his imagination couldn't conjure something so fucking perfect. Her eyes squeezed tightly and Christian felt her warm soft walls contract around him. She was getting off and seducing him all over again with her provocative joy, her titillating purrs. He moved down to kiss her, to save her lip from it's imminent puncture between her teeth.

 _Riiiight…_ That's what he told himself. Part of him, the part he spent the most time with, the asshole, knew he kissed her to remind her that he was there. That he was the other half of their intimate connection. Her face, her gorgeous, aroused flush face was teetering on oblivion and the way she bit her lip, the way her corneas mapped below the soft pink skin of her eye lids. She was euphoric. Did she know he was there? He felt like he was floating above her own ecstatic fantasy. She seemed to float too, stimulated past caring, in her own erotic world. Clenching around him, her warm body throbbing around his, chasing her own climax. He felt a moment's separation, watching this whipped up woman come undone in front of him—as though his body were a delivery device for Ana's personal pleasure. Fuck! He skated his hands down her sides, to provoke a response. Then he gripped her hips until he was sure they'd bruise, before sliding his hands around under her waist.

With her ass cheeks stuffed in his hands, he arched forward and seized her bottom lip, sucking, and shifted his weight to the left, pulling his hips up square to rub her clit across the hilt of his body.

"Ana" he garbled out, to draw her back. No, to satisfy her. It was only about the pleasure, the release. Get her there faster and this would all be over that much more quickly. "Ana" he pled with her. Did she sense what was happening? Fuuuck!

Christian took over with carnal instincts, pumping into her slick walls over and over, piercing every part of her, mimicking his thorough fucking with his tongue in her mouth. Her skin stuck to his and the foreign sensation only made him more desperate. His own body arched looking for more resistance, as her walls bore down tight milking him, driving him wild. She added a hip roll, and matched his gyrations with her own. They fucked like that for some time, connected face to hip.

Eventually, their whole bodies sex-swollen, he paused to recover, pulled back and hovered over her damp pretty face, pining her arms below his. He tilted his head and kissed her gently, in a half-hammed effect to convey his adoration, his sincerity—fuck! His vulnerability. When she purred in his mouth, the switch flipped and he drove down again harder, and their teeth clashed as he sucked on her tongue and clenched his ass to stave off his own release. "Fucking Christ."

Her fingers unwound from his and she stuttered her arms under his wet shoulders to pull him closer. "I need you." Squirming and panting below him, her words sounded dirty coming from her sweet mouth. And that was all it took, he couldn't maintain his posture, he couldn't kiss her anymore, he needed every muscle to fight the climax she was pulling from him.

Keenly aware of the power her sexy cries and her carnal demands had, he shifted again, fighting off the euphoric wave tugging at his balls. Ana sensed the shift and rolled her hips back, she tried to lock her ankles together behind him. But he fought her, fucking her at a grueling pace and biting her earlobe. He slid his hands under her ass again to control her this time, squeezing her hot wet flesh between his fingers, pressing their cores together, grinding against her soaked pussy, angling his pelvis to reach further inside her, to create the added friction he sensed she needed to detonate.

When her orgasm hit, her whole body seized and she arched them off the bed, bucking her hips almost violently as he felt her walls fasten around him. His own climax began its ripple through him and he pumped into her several more times, as the strongest orgasm he'd ever felt shook through his body. His ears were ringing and his brain fought against his dizzy reaction. The sensation was so complex, bordering on convulsion, that he reared up to his knees momentarily, pulling her with him.

Still tensing, he eased them back down, only to force his cock deeper when her clamping sex tried pushing him out. She was still coming as he called out her name and reveled in her soul-stealing whimpers. His spasming body jerked against hers and he buried his head into the tiny curve of her neck, their sweat and harsh breathing mingling with their pounding hearts and emotions they surely never expected. He listened with all his senses, absorbing their own unique scent, the tenor of their gasping breaths, the flutters in their skin above their racing pulses.

All this time, Christian felt Ana's orgasm continue its own tremors, her channel still milking him inside her. Thrusting his semi-erect cock only seemed to please her wet cunt more, and he groaned softly with each pulse and relished the way her lascivious body seemed to go on and on tensing around him. He found he didn't care that he felt more connection that release. More comfort than climax. So unbelieveable. So real. So moving. His spine literally tingled and he realized _sex had never been like this. Ever._

"Me neither" she answered. And he was shocked that she'd heard him, much less that he'd spoken aloud, where his head lay nuzzled into her. His breath skipped a beat and he smiled against her before kissing that soft spot at the base of her neck over and over. He licked their mixed perspiration, to quench a thirst he now knew—lying on top of the woman he loved—would leave him parched, possibly forever. _She's my fucking goddess._ Her sigh was an echo to his own guttural moan, a deep throaty affection that passed between them, and he knew. He fucking knew. And he was paralyzed.

"Unbelievable." He whispered at the same time she said, "I can't move." They laughed and he leaned to his side and propped his head in his hand to study her demeanor. Not just her physical reaction, but her emotions, which played out across her gorgeous flushed face.

The irony that his sated body was wracked by a tempestuous swell of excitement, while the electrical storm surged outside wasn't lost on him. He ran his hand reverently over her florid skin, eliciting more shutters and soft quiet moans from her pouty lips. He slowly slid out of her, carefully, to spare her any discomfort. A rush of warm moisture gushed over their thighs and she moaned out a resigned wail.

Ana turned her head to glance at him, but their gazes froze, and a hushed silence set in, as they each contemplated the earth-shattering experience they'd just shared. He didn't know what she was thinking, her eyed danced with excitement, but they didn't match the shrinking smile on her mouth. He moved his eyes down to her ear where moisture, tears perhaps, had gathered inside the shell. He kissed her there and stuck his tongue out to taste her. She smelled exquisite, freshly fucked with a hint of his own body wash lingering.

"Christian. I need to tell you—"

"I know." He breathed out, skirting his finger tips along her temple, moving her silky hair behind her warm ear. He cupped her chin in his hand and he ghosted his mouth over her full lips. "I feel the same." Then her lips touched his, so soft and sweet. She traced his lower lip with her tongue and he parted her lips with his own. He stopped himself from sucking her tongue again, instead trying to match her tender and soft. Her vibrating moan had the opposite effect and Christian kissed her deeper and poured every syllable of his feelings into her mouth, expressing his elation, his devotion, his greedy affection. "This…" he began, and shuffled down so that his eyes were even with hers. "I feel it too." Under his nose, he felt her begin to protest, purse her lips, but he was already lifting off her, moving to stand, the grin of a lifetime plastered to his face. "I want to do that again, but you must be hungry. Come."

"I think I'd do anything you told me to right now." She rose beside him.

"Really?" That was enticing. Did she realize she'd said it?

"Yes." He laughed at her when he bent over, swiping her clothes off the floor, separating his sweatshirt from her lacy nightgown. "What?" She sought out his gaze again. "That came out really desperate didn't it?"

"It's fine." He felt… alive. He pulled his much too large for her sweatshirt down over her head, covering far too much of her sex-ravaged skin, and kissed her nose while she pushed her hands through the sleeves. Then he reached behind and pulled her hair free of the collar. He wanted to run his fingers through her soft matted waves, but he sensed she was a little hands off about that.

His head bumped against her hip when he leaned down again to grab his pajama bottoms. He kissed the apex of her thighs with a delicate kiss. Her body leaned in even though her voice tripped over a raspy 'no.' He stood straight again, surprised by his own tenderness, and care, and fixed his pants.

Ana was beaming, and reached her hand up to run her trembling fingers across his forehead, moving his damp hair back. He enjoyed her simple grooming and gulped shyly in response. The next clap of thunder stirred his kinky brain from it's romantic slumber, the Ana effect. He took a deep breath and began his after sex routine. But Ana's eyes wouldn't let him fully engage. They were just so fucking penetrating, seeing down into his dark soul. He fought her stare, and thought of his own needs, what grooves he wanted to wear into his memory.

Christian stood transfixed. Not wanting to squander even an instant of the monumental highlight reel he was making. He cupped her face in his hands and just held her, rubbing his still shaking thumbs back and forth, down along her jaw line. The affections he whispered were sincere, but he didn't know where they came from. All the flowery shit that once seemed so foreign forced its way out of him _. She was his. And it felt safe to tell her._

"Wait." He released her, tapping her nose. He stepped into his closet and re-emerged hastily with a water bottle and moistened towel. He cleaned Ana quickly, kneeling in front of her. Well, not so quickly that he didn't glance between her thighs to see a little of himself trickling out. He rose again, tossed aside the towel, then scooped her up under her knees to carry her into the kitchen.

She immediately reared up to escape his arms, "No wait," awkwardly trying to pull the back of her top over her ass. "I'm not wearing panties." Hesitantly, he set her down. "Can I borrow a pair of…"

He put one finger to his lips where they curled up into a devilish smile, and ran a lazy hand up the side of her leg, stopping at the edge of her sweatshirt. "That tickles," she peeped.

"Hush. I don't know Ana." He teased. "This covers enough." He wanted to have her again, have her available to him when his control snapped. He wasn't sure he'd ever rebuild his control after that first orgasm inside her. It was bound to snap. Her blush, mixed with the scent of sex, he was half hard around her most of the time anyway. Now that he'd tasted her, Jesus he wanted her now… Did they really need to eat first?

" _What?!_ My panties are in your pocket, right there." She pointed at his cock, then moved her straight finger the two inches toward his front pajama pocket. "There." He crushed her hand in his, the one that'd stroked him within an inch of coming, and brought it to his mouth, where and rubbed his tongue up and down her finger, until it was covered in his saliva. Her swaying response, a dead give away to the docile aftereffects of her multiple orgasms, pleased him immensely. And with her finger in his mouth, she was distracted for a moment.

"They are my panties now," he grit out while he held her finger between his teeth. He'd purloined them this morning, first thing, when he thought she was singing in his bathroom, not sharing herself with some other fucker on that fucking phone. He'd stroked himself a couple times while he sniffed the cotton panel. And now they were his, safely tucked in his pants' pocket.

With eyes wide like saucers—yes, she liked this little game—she leaned into him slowly, rubbing her middle against his bulge. She tried to wiggle her finger from his mouth, but it was a distraction so he might not notice when she tried reaching down to steal back her panties from his pocket.

"Ah ah ah…" He shimmied back a bit, laughing and captured both her hands in his. He kissed her knuckles between words. "My. Place. My. Rules."

"Rules?" she mewled.

"Mhmm." His mouth moved to her wrists, then he set her arms around his neck and lifted her up. "Yes. I can't believe in the time we've spent cooking, I failed to inform you of how I run my kitchen." He lifted her up by her thighs, and she naturally clenched around him. A groan escaped them both, as the remnants of their lovemaking marked his abdomen.

"Christian, I can't…" she sighed into his neck. He slapped her ass.

"Quiet. I'm offering tops and several forms of sustenance, not bottoms." He grabbed her earlobe between his teeth and sucked for a moment, letting his lewd promise sink in.

While she bucked against him, obviously enjoying his suckling, she giggled. "That's ridiculous." He didn't listen because he was focused on the tremors of her giggling chest against his. This… _closeness_ sent him reeling.

He hustled them to the kitchen, setting her on the island. "I'm afraid my kitchen is panty-free Miss Steele."

She shrugged him off. "Since when?" His fingers dug into her thighs. This vixen. Since I felt your tight as fuck pussy suck everything right out of me. Since I felt your slick wet heat wrapped around me, pulsing, throbbing, needing.

He shook his head. "Are you questioning me?" His query was anything but innocent, and he punctuated it with a tilt of his head and an arched eyebrow, an almost obscene smirk on his face. He was sure her gaping mouth indicated she understood the rules. With perfect timing the lights flickered again in response to a crash of thunder just beyond their walls. The atmosphere shifted, and Christian found comfort in Ana's shocked expression. Although this new lightness surprised him. This was him flirting, she knew that, right?

He'd rendered her speechless. The incredulous look on her face transformed into a burst of giggles and she leaned forward, nipping his chin, swinging her legs playfully on the sides of his hips. "You're soooo bossy." She whined. "What's that about?"

Christian held Ana's hypnotic eyes in his magnetic stare. The electric charge between them tacked to ingition. She had no idea, even though her chin trembled with anticipation, she had no fucking clue what he wanted to do to her. And with that thought in mind, to illustrate just 'what he was about,' he grasped her hips in his hands and pushed her back. "Holyhell," she groaned, then cackled her thrill. She beamed a juicy smile and scooted back to make room as he lifted his knee up to her height, leveraging himself up to join her on the island where he laid his muscular frame over hers, wasting only brief seconds to free himself.

He checked his progress above her and took all of her in. Her hair a mess, her rosy cheeks, her come fuck me eyes dancing over his body, her tempting mouth sighing in wait. He couldn't believe this was real. She was dazzling. "I want you." He pumped his hard flesh and rubbed his crest across her soft center, already constricting and needy. Then he pressed his cock hard against her clit, and looked for a sign. She nodded, as her tongue covered her lower lip, and she hissed out an affirmation. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he sunk into her again.

Fuck she felt good. Pleasure tore through him under her tight velvet grip and his whole body sung out in worship, in an ecstasy that unraveled over every inch of him. It converged in his center, and he felt his chest break, crack open for Ana, and he invited her in. Maybe not with the words he wasn't ready to admit, maybe not with the truths she needed to hear, but with his mouth and his hands, and their connected bodies, he gave her everything she'd ever need. He gave her himself.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for your kind reviews. It still surprises me some days that y'all have stuck around. xo Mrs Caron**


	17. Chapter 17 Covalent Bonds

_Enjoy!_

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 17 — Covalent Bonds**

 _Sunday, August 6_

Ana slid off the island with some cock-eyed smirk he didn't recognize. The collected moisture below her, the heat, created a squeaky suction sound as she slinked to stand. She disappeared from his sight momentarily as she swooped down, reappearing with his pajama pants in her small hand. Another crack of thunder startled her and she took off to the dining, like she was fleeing.

Christian was haunched back on his knees in the center of his kitchen, wearing only an exhausted grin and the remnants of his erection. His chest panted a new rhythm. "Ana…" It was a breath, a contraction of air, but the feeling, the sigh he released felt like a prayer, to keep her there.

As she moved away from him, he groaned at her red backside as it shook, teasing him. Her sweet ass looked like a shiny heart on Valentine's Day. His smile faded even as his arousal piqued again. What the fuck? Why was her ass so red?

She grinned back at him as her eyes skimmed over his body, her chaffed mouth the same color as that perfect ass.

"Is your backside cold baby? You were on the marble a long time." His pelvis twitched to feel that tight ass against him, if he came at her from behind.

"Yeah?" Ana turned to inspect her own ass, and she was so… "It was pretty cold. But you warmed up my other parts, doctor." With thoughts of rubbing up against her, he moved to hop down from his perch atop his island… "Stop!" She held her hand up, fighting her face to find a serious look.

"I'm not in your kitchen any more," Ana taunted with a slight melody. She pointed to the edge of the carpet, marking the separation of the kitchen from the open dining room. Snapping his pajama bottoms in the air, she made a show of patting down the pockets before withdrawing her pale lavender panties. Her sultry look said, take that! He shook his head. She squeezed them in her hand and wadded up his bottoms. She scooted back and wiggled that fine ass. "Wilson's back to pass…" yes, she threw his pants at him, "Touchdown. The crowd goes wild!" She strutted her long toned legs in a goofy dance. His cotton pants fluttered briefly and landed on the floor between them.

Christian sat still, processing a rainbow of emotions, before settling on happy annoyance, and tried to remove the vision of her crawling to the heaped pajamas. He could tell her to move, but decided against it. Instead, he rose up on his knees, briefly aware of his own soreness, and hopped down gracefully, fighting a laugh, but only for a second. They both started laughing and couldn't stop.

Hours later, but probably thirty seconds, his lungs pressed out a series of rapid breaths, to reign himself back in. He was flying, like he'd been launched from a circus cannon, face stretched against the force, scalp tingling in the light air. He was fluttering over a calm sea, no waves or wake in sight, headed for a soft landing on a distant horizon— _Analand_. However brief the trip, he felt the unusual ephemeral sense of the moment. He surrendered to the present, this moment without fear. As soon as he recognized it, it vanished. His mouth curled at the mocking irony, thinking he could use a sedative right now. But it only took one look at her sparkling eyes… _fuck it._

With their asses covered finally, Christian approached her, grinning hard and desperate to touch her again. When he did, holding their bodies flush together, running his nose along her cheek to smell her sweetness, she winced. He darted back to look at her face and all the blood drained to his feet where it pooled like the shame of dead weight.

Her skin was marked with a bright reddish gray oval the size of a nickel, where her jaw met her neck. Ana shrugged at his perusal. His eyes closed slowly and he snorted out his low boil as he caressed her forehead with his mouth. Leila's dead corpse, bruised for eternity, flickered through his memory, but he shut that shit down. He had to.

"Ana," he feathered her jaw with the tips of his fingers and swallowed back his guilt. "I think I did that to you."

Her own fingers mapped her cheek, where his had been. She pressed her lips between her teeth and suppressed a… a smile? "And you didn't even need my lip stick."

She'd stunned him. He just stared at her, his mouth parted. Christ, she could turn him upside down. She was so unexpected. So… special. How many things could pop out of her pretty mouth that would leave him speechless and crazy with need?

* * *

He excused himself politely, and left Ana standing there. He wanted to apologize, to give her more comfort, but quickly he thought better of it. He needed a second. Distance. Get to his room, and recover.

Christian grabbed a clean t-shirt and stood, facing out the window at the front of his closet, a safe distance from the incredible creature he left in his dining room. Stood was probably an inadequate verb to describe what he was doing. Shaking, panting, recovering, regulating. Hell, diagnosing. He rubbed his stubbled face to soothe himself and laughed at his choice word: safe. There was nothing safe about his universe today. Even the weather conspired against him, at once electric and dark. Warm and cold—the summer storm was a fitting companion to his own exploding emotions.

 _Fucking Ana!_ She'd swallowed his remorse when she absolved him. He practically battered her face with his mouth while he jammed himself inside her hot little body on a marble slab, and she was fine with it. What was he thinking, or not thinking?

To see any other woman's face contused, he would have been pleased with himself, but with Ana, it felt… incongruent. Like neon paint on a Rothko.

He stretched his neck and shook off his imbalances, trying to construct some sort of internal equilibrium. He mentally catalogued his physiological reactions to the sex, the angel, no that _goddess_ half-dressed in the kitchen behind him. Could he save himself from Hurricane Ana?

He needed to pull away, to get his bearings. But her needy sighs, her pleas while he filled her. Jesus, he looked down… It made no difference, he simply reloaded with need. He pulled at his hair, rubbed his face, anything to temper his body's profound reaction to the memory.

The grey cotton shirt in his hand suddenly felt hot and wet. He tossed it and grabbed another, throwing it over his head as though the navy fibers offended him, punching his hands through the long sleeves. Fuck this! These… " _Feelings!"_ he finally shouted, releasing at least something.

With his head pressed against the glass, staring down the thirty stories to the dreary street below, Christian welcomed the irony. He may have been falling, still there were limits. These feelings, the passions, any real affections, were simply inaccessible to share with her. To offer her. A real man, one with honor… He shook his head at that. _Honorable._ A whole man would give her up before she fell in love with him.

Today's physical reactions weren't new. He'd had plenty of sex, much of it filthy and wild. He'd fucked enough beautiful women to destroy the imaginations of most men. The past two hours with Ana though, were mind-blowing and surreal. It wasn't sex. It wasn't fucking, it was a different level of being.

Even now, safely ensconced in his home, yards away from her, his body fully clothed, he felt he might stroke out. His heart had gotten involved. That fat piece of meat in his chest, had erupted and roared like a raw nerve stimulating every exposed outlet within him. Every vessel filled with an energy that beat out a new rhythm, he felt in circulating through him, like little Ana sparks that lit up his systems and dulled out whatever pain he deserved.

His vagus nerve, the body's longest, connecting his heart to his brainstem, that fucker had taken over his body and mind like some love drunk sea captain of his inner self, and literally steered vibrating fibers out to all his organs, resounding and echoing down through him, at even the memory of her touch and feel.

He was confusing himself. What was he thinking, feeling? He was exposed and she was still here, waiting for him. "Christ she is killing me."

There wasn't a system inside him that remained unaffected. Until this morning, he'd never felt such arresting connection to the pads of his fingers, the backs of his knees, hell the tip of his dick.

His head ached. Sensations from his heart sent the new images of Ana's sexy self below him over to candy-colored dreamscapes, but they'd really happened. His lungs clamped down making breathing a last resort option to his throbbing heartbeat, mesmerizing him when he thrust above her. And that throbbing heart, minutes passed between them, between beats. He was suspended in time with her, in a thick fog of pleasure he'd only ever read about. He felt… gratified, which terrified him.

Two of his fingers pressed into his neck until his found his pulse, focusing his mind on his slowing breathes, his calming heartbeat. He just had to navigate his systems to the same course, release and dissolve. Be patient. He could outlast this dazzling, consuming reaction to her, and wait for the parallel.

The empty ooze. The safety and numb security that came with practiced patience. Because with Ana—it'd take more patience than he had, more control than he possessed, more self-awareness than he'd care to invest. The way he responded to her tongue down his throat. Her teeth grazing his ear. My god, her smile set him on fire. He would need patience to bury his desires. To save himself from the inevitable devastation when she peered behind his eyes, into the empty corners inside, the loss, his ugly center.

He breathed audibly and listened, shifting into one of his practiced methods for recovering, and his body convulsed at the notion. He asked himself what was he recovering from? _I want to be faceless. And bodiless and left alone._

It wouldn't work anymore. Ana _had_ seen him. Ana _had_ touched him. He wasn't alone when he was with her, not now. Would he ever be? He wanted to share any piece of earth she occupied.

" _Don't stop,"_ she'd demanded. He'd been rough, savage even. And she wanted more? Her last little moan echoed in his head. The ' _ahh'_ she sighed when he'd pulled out of her, as though she already missed him. How could it be so intimate between them, that feeling each other's skin seemed right as rain?

He was suffocating. _Patience_ , he muttered to himself. He needed patience. To tolerate, endure this suffering of feelings, until that empty ooze—that delayed numbness—kicked in.

Christian knew from experience that the euphoria of dosing—pharmacological dosing of any kind, for example—required patience, whether among his carefully prescribed subjects, or in his own self-medication. Endurance. Being patient made everything tolerable.

It was true in his MSF work too. Those first few hours in the field—during the day's first catastrophic conflict casualties—those times were the most emotional and mentally depleting. Callused habit and self-discipline learned through experience taught him that there was an eventual leavening, an even-ing out, a palpable dulling safety—void of sentiment and spirit—that kicked in.

He called his eventual reflex _the numbing remedy of recurrence_. This easing, he believed, was an emotional echo. And when the echo kicked, he could survive any crisis. Christ, his heart sped up again, thinking of those burning bodies in the hospital, and immediately his vision morphed to Ana burning. His next swallow felt like chewing gravel. He was in love with her, and the echo seemed so far away. He focused on his breathes, his pulse under his fingers. Get control.

The emotional echo effected his submissives as well. With patience, they adapted to the emotional highs and lows that followed some of their most extreme, most rewarding carnal acts. Shit, it's why he sent them packing so quickly. Because the spark left really quickly once the body adapted to the kick. The adrenaline rush of the new, the forbidden, the tender or rough: That physical release and the accompanying sensations were what they both wanted. It many ways it was the whole fucking point. He fought a smirk. Hot sex and release. Taking control or handing it over.

An electric clap of thunder tinged the glass and buzzed up his thighs, and he felt an itch in his ears. He shook his head, thinking that a thunder storm could snap him out of his reflections. His weary justifications for maintaining his distant, his solemness, his solitary life. _The numbing remedy of recurrence._ What if his mood was something else? The differential diagnosis?

 _Bullshit!_ He'd witnessed the easing, the numbing of his submissive partners. How they tuned out to the amazing highs he would carefully design, pushing their climaxes to not just pleasurable endpoints, but to intentional acts of gratification for both himself and his partners. Eventually, they all became numb, he told himself. They all found diminished release.

A few of his paramours were downright exhausting. They tried too hard, or they weren't naturally submissive after all, and with them, the echo came after a week or two. Some women argued they simply wanted more, that the enervating releases had stirred something else up, that they'd grown attached, that they _loved_ him, but they were wrong. It was biology. Physiology and synaptic responses, worn down over time, the women became exhausted even within his controlled plans. He never cared for the humiliating aspects of his kink, he wanted them silent because they submitted, but when they started their carrying on about relationships and shit, he rationalized the gags as another necessary denial.

Honestly, he too grew tired. Without exception, he got over the initial endorphins they released for each other, and then it got too routine, too boring. The thresholds changed. Sure, there were a few hardcore masochists, who were dishonest from the beginning, who hung in there hoping for Christian to escalate the pain, multiply the whippings. But mostly, he couldn't deny the biological explanation that the sensual acts dulled everyone's nerves. Over the term of each contract, his subs became immune to the waves of ecstasy—despite their insincere pleas for more, their claims that his emotional distance was the problem—it was their physical adaptation and wearing down to the sensational until it became benign and edgeless. With time and patience it all balanced out.

Ana, his sexy siren, had him off balance. And beyond this surface affection, he told himself, what he felt was the need for patience. All of his other symptoms were those same biological responses, the perspiration of heightened reactions, and loss of control. He reasoned with himself, there were no earth shattering moments here. There were synapses and responses. They too would be sated over time. And that's what eased his breaking heart, his recognition she was all of these things: new forbidden tender and rough. She was… the remedy.

* * *

Christian detoured to his bathroom, and caught sight of Ana's phone lying in a shattered heap on the floor where it'd landed. No sense in unnecessarily drawing her attention to his earlier panic, when he almost lost it in the bathroom. Hastily, he opened Signal for his encrypted check in with Krystal. Next, he shot off a few texts, to his brother, ICU, Felix—ignoring the red circled double digit indicating his dad had most likely called him several times. He headed back to the kitchen. He was sure the several new voicemails were related to the dead women. He wanted to know, he wanted to find out what his father knew about the investigation… just not yet. His brunette angel was alone in the kitchen.

Let's see how long before she brings up her fucking phone… with that new rasp in her voice. That rasp was his doing. He'd pleased himself with his stealth punishment.

He made his way back to the kitchen with renewed calm about the entirely different kind of fucking he'd just experienced. There was no sense fighting his grin, thinking his little honey pot was still there. Ana's nude feet peaked around the corner, pretty toes curled.

He slowed his step because he knew what was waiting for him. And that little mantra he'd just rehearsed—about the empty ooze—to wait for the emotional echo to kick… _Complete bullshit._

He entered his kitchen to the sight of Ana on her hands and knees. The thin lace of her underwear the only distraction from her nearly naked backside, high in the air, pale flesh shifting to the rhythm of her arm toweling up the milk foam that collected earlier under the Meile. An apt metaphor for the base impulses she'd stirred during his failed cappuccino run.

Grinning, he offered his hand and noted the sizzle when she grasped it between her fingers.

She realized her exposure and quickly rose, "Whoops… " The wet towel ended up into the sink. Then she leaned up to his mouth and nipped at him. The air thinned between them and Christian wanted to conserve it, it was so hard to breath, they better share a breath.

She was bewitching, her morning bed head was tamed and her big eyes were bright and inviting. She was relaxed, yet she still looked like someone had just fucked the shit out of her.

Ana tilted her head, and Christian realized he was staring. Again. He began a banal something… but she interrupted. "I think we should switch to tea," she beamed and winked.

Like the last day of school, the summer sun on your shoulders, when the busy world has faded, responsibility lies behind the skip in your step. Or a sedated mother wakes up in wonder, to see her newborn baby cooing in her arms. Or a broken doctor addicted to narcotics, turns the corner and crosses paths with the most perfect creature he could ever imagine. That's how he experienced every moment with Ana Steele. Was that a physical response, Grey? Keep trying to convince yourself this is chemistry?

"Is Sophie alright?" His hands found her backside and he rubbed her chilly ass with open palms.

She hummed an affirmation, and explained she'd set something up in the powder room. He nodded having heard nothing she said. She moved away and refocused herself at the counter by the Cornue. And he couldn't get enough of her.

"I'm fixing an IKEA breakfast for us." Ana's dusty voice purred over her shoulder—he followed her like she was his covalent bond, as if sharing the atmosphere were essential to his stability.

"An IKEA breakfast? That's Swedish right? What is it?" Her throat did sound strained, and he felt a little guilty about the memory in conjured. He smiled in surprise at how interested he was in her answer, if he could hear it. Maybe it was because she was like no one he'd ever met. He leaned over, molding his body to hers and kissed her ear as he grabbed a pickle from her tray.

"You don't know what an IKEA breakfast is… That tickles. Actually, I don't think I've ever told anyone." He rested back against the stove beside her, so he could watch her put their food together. Point for me, he thought, that asshole she lived with never knew to ask. "It's simple really. You take any food that you can assemble yourself. And then you slice, stab, stack. Like this." He watched her face the whole time. She waved a paring knife to get his attention, and pointed at the small colorful food pyramids in front of her. "You know, ignoring the instructions, recipes, and just, stacking whatever food you have around. Bread, apples, white fish, baby cheeses."

"Baby cheeses?" He popped a grape in his mouth. "As opposed to adult cheese?"

"Adult cheese?" she mimicked him, "I'm no cheese perv, doctor."

He dragged her body to him with her shirt collar hooked in his finger. He peered down, admiring her breasts in shadow. He sucked on her collar bone, to confirm he was awake, he told himself. His eyes caught hers, grey to blue. "That remains to be seen." He was lost in her. His hungry mouth forced his eyes down to her pink lips, and he just had to taste them again. The tip of his tongue found hers and they wove their mouths together, in a gentle satisfying kiss. Her mouth tasted like berries and milk, so sweet. But it only fueled the crescendo of emotions building inside. His heartbeat grew so loud, he felt his jugular might snap and flood his mouth. He swallowed his surrender and ended the kiss to save his own life.

"Are you a fondue virgin?" He smiled in wonder and tilted his head at her weird question. What was she talking about? She wrapped him tightly in her arms, holding her hands at the bottom of his t-shirt, because somehow, she knew that's all he could tolerate right now. "The things I can do with some hot fondue… make you squirm underneath me, Doctor Smooth."

Their cheeks whispered together as he recovered his voice. "Ana… You're so different than anyone I've ever met." And she was. He couldn't continue to lie to himself.

"Really? Thank you. I don't feel that different. I mean from anyone else. I doubt you've met too many massage therapists." His smile faded at that, but he held her gaze, to reassure her, there was no way she'd understand.

"You'd be surprised who I've met, Ana." He felt his face shift as Nina Petrova's hands flitted through his mind. That was shitty.

The tea kettle hummed in concert with a little disapproving _pfft_ from Ana. And she moved away again, back to her assembly line.

His taunting slight was an asshole moment. He chided himself to face reality. The conflict over his affection for her wasn't going anywhere. But he needed to reign in his impulse to push her away. He'd just reach for her. He wasn't stupid. The dilemma was in his head.

"Where were you just now?"

"In my bathroom. What do you mean?"

"I mean, were you in your room stewing over what happened between us this morning?" She whispered the last part, as though an audience were present.

"Ana—"

"You were back there retreating, right? Coming up with your latest ramble about how we can't be together, how I'm better off the less I know."

"What? No…" Her face was irritated, even though her cheeks were still flushed, her chin was challenging him.

"Damn you Christian, you're so frustrating. You were gone long enough. And then you come back in looking sexy has hell, but you're all dark and broody in your long navy shirt and your fucked up hair" She pushed on his chest and then rested her hands there, where he held them tightly. "I get the feeling you think you have to hit rock bottom before you can…" She shook her head, rending her hands out from under his, then moved to sit down at breakfast bar. She motioned for him to join her and he walked to the opposite side, leaning in.

"Before I can what, Ana?" He stood across from her, images of them from a few minutes ago, writhing in unison on the counter, interfered with his ability to be present.

She pulled on his hands, encouraging him to lean in closer. "You know, hitting bottom…" she molested her lower lip before continuing. "Hitting bottom can be profoundly gorgeous. And very, very powerfully sad." He held his tongue, not clear where this was going. Maybe the morning together had affected her as severely. "You think you're the only one with shit? Everybody has stuff. Your stuff is no more important than my stuff."

"I want to know all your… _stuff_ , Ana." He tried on a seductive smile. "I prefer we never discuss my stuff." He squeezed her hand.

"The way you just want to cast off your entire existence before you met me. It's off-putting. I want to care about all of you. Not just the expurgated version."

"You think I'm expurgated? God Ana, I—"

"Christian, you're not helpless, as far as your past goes, and it's hold over you. Please live in the present. I think you exaggerate your helplessness. It's a gesture of generosity and selfishness at the same time. You're being selfish. To everyone in your life."

"Selfish? What the fuck is selfish in confessing to you that I have no fucking clue what I'm doing? That I don't deserve you. In any lifetime, much less this one, and even knowing that. I still… I want to be with you, but I have fucked myself up so badly that—"

"Your willingness to parade around cloaked in your problems, your distance" yes, she used air quotes on Christian's traumas—"in one way, it's great that you think you're so open and might even want my help. But on the other hand, it's really selfish. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever met anyone as self-involved as you are. Maybe I'm the one with issues."

Is that what she thought? He watched her sort of gather herself, and she was lovely. "I want to be with you. I want to see what would happen if we really gave ourselves over to each other. But then you keep telling me that you can't be with me. And I think poor Christian, the hot doctor with intimacy issues. You get a big dose of attention and maybe, don't kill me, maybe even satisfaction from your self-loathing. And pardon me, but am I feeding your need for this? I definitely don't wanna do that. Because it feels pretty selfish from where I'm sitting. And it's never cool to throw a girl's phone. Okay?" She managed to throw in her slyest, sexiest smirk yet. Christian didn't know where to pounce on her or lick his wounds.

Instead he stared, and measured his words carefully. "You're lucky you're sitting, because I want nothing more than to spank that gorgeous pink ass into submission. Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?"

"What! Are you serious? Who the fuck am I?" She was still smiling.

"You think I'm a selfish prick?"

"I'm your girlfriend, in case you hadn't put it together, you… asshole!" She laughed.

"Asshole? I'm the goddamn alpha here—" _girlfriend_ "Girlfriend! You're—" His face contorted into a mixture of glee and defiance, joy and guilt even.

"Yes, you idiot. Your girlfriend. And we're having a discussion about communication and bullshit in our re-la-tion-SHIP." She giggled. She leaned forward and kissed him hard while she pulled on his shoulders.

"You didn't know, Dr. Grey?" she wiggled her little chin while her teeth gripped her lip. He feigned disbelief with his upturned eyebrows. "You know you're hot as hell when you look at me like that, Christian."

"Hmmm?" Was all that he could manage.

"Okay fine. You want to play dumb? What's your diagnosis, good doctor? What do you think is going on here? Cause, I know how you really feel about me."

"How is that?"

"The same as I do, you beautiful, irresistible man." She turned her head down and spoke in a hushed tone. "Come here?" She stood and indicated that he sit in her chair, which he did. Ana turned her panty-clad rear to him and shimmied. "Last chance to get a good lick in." Then she plopped herself down on his lap, catching herself with her arms round his neck. "It's a secret, but one I'm willing to share for a small price." Her mouth tickled his face as she continued.

"Price? I have a feeling I can't afford your tastes, Miss Steele." He'd pay any price to preserve this moment. This sweltering connection, as though his entire skin had melted down to his bones, and this kind angel stroked his exposed heart in her hands.

"Tastes you say? Don't start with the dirty talk already, it's barely lunch. And don't even think about calling me Miss Steele now. We're on intimate terms now. _Ana. Baby. Oh goddess of mine._ I can work with those." She was his beguiling goddess.

He squeezed her hard, "God Ana, how you make me feel." _It's temporary Grey, you can't sustain this energy. It will evaporate and end you. It's too foreign and depleting._ The squeeze in his chest turned vice-like, he labored to draw wind.

"See, it's working. This! This is the kind of selfishness I'm willing to indulge." And because it was too hard to breathe—too hard to believe what was happening was true—his throat clenched to prevent his heart from bursting up. He pressed his quivering lips into hers. He needed that moment. A moment to tip back upright. What just happened? Was this chick foreplay? He thought to himself. Should I take her again?

"Ana."

"Christian," she chimed.

"What else are you willing to indulge?"

"Oh my god! Are you seriously suggesting something risqué with me right now?"

He nodded. "I am."

"Oh no you don't, I've constructed a small lego village out of your leftovers and derelict fruits, not to mention those lewd baby cheeses. We are eating."

"Your mouth pleases me to no end, baby." That dilemma in his head, to be with her or not to be with her? It was a paradox of his own making. His prior suffering paled in comparison to the though of not being with her.

She was perfect, as she swept around his kitchen. Even after she called him out on his shit, he noted how relaxed she appeared, in her underwear, his sweatshirt. And he caved. Her physical existence, her arresting effect on his own successful—however tenuous—existence. She simply was. Her irresistible force, his immovable self. He moaned in agony, he wanted too much, and not enough.

He had to move out of her way or be destroyed. Which was a real mind fuck. He was the destroyer. He'd always been the destroyer. What was she doing to him?

 _Fuck this._ He was done thinking and analyzing, he lied to himself.

He was a child again, stepping out of a carnival ride, legs unsteady, stupefied by the new sensations running up and down his skin, elated by the new feeling of summersaults in his stomach. His body was still humming with the after-effects of Ana. A crazy thought rolled through his head, he was never washing his dick again. That was only half of his crazy thoughts. He couldn't lend his focusto the other half. That maybe he'd met someone that would change everything. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He started to laugh, but then hesitated. _What the fuck, Grey? You sick fuck._ A lump formed in his throat and a bittersweet tinge pricked his eyes.

 _Not in this lifetime._ It took more. He looked up at her with resignation. He was fortified and weak at once. He couldn't even meet her eyes.

 _Not in this lifetime._ She was talking and he offered her a half-hearted shrug in response, not sure what she'd said. He was slowly losing interest in their conversation. _'Two dead bodies doctor… another girl missing,'_ rolled over every loving fantasy that managed to slip through his defenses. Not rolled over. More like cloaked in a dark bloody film and he couldn't see anything else.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He smirked when Ana blushed, realizing she was staring at his crotch again. "It's fine baby. But I have to take this."

* * *

"Dad."

"Christian. How are you?" His fatherly voice filtered through to Christian even though Carrick Grey tried to maintain an air of professionalism.

His eyes sought out Ana, and he inhaled sharply. A rush of memory, of her intimately connected with him, invaded his mouth, his ears, his nose, his mind. He turned away and caught her mirrored steps in the periphery as he closed his eyes to confess to his father. "I'm fine. I knew both women… But I'd never—"

"I know. Listen, the district attorney called late yesterday and there's no way around it. This isn't easy. I don't have any leverage or capacity to delay this or reduce your exposure." Christian looked up and his beautiful angel was in front of him, mouthing something through a smile. "They're looking at you for the murders. Premeditated, apparently…" Centering himself against that depressing reality, Christian held Ana's peaceful gaze in his own, as if she could offer more than comfort from a simple look. As if her pale blue eyes could bleach out the dark stains in his life. What a selfish prick he was to corrupt this innocent with his brutal past.

Instead, her guileless shrug and nod directed him to her raised hand, where she held a small IKEA sandwich up for him to bite. His mouth settled in a half curve when the lump in his throat became too much to respond. She was feeding him. She. Was feeding. Him. While his father laid out the gathering murder charges against him.

Apparently, there was a lot his father needed to share. He droned on about probable cause and warrants, motive and opportunity. Ana just stuffed his face with her charming sandwiches. He knit his eye brows at some of her combinations, but he swallowed everything.

He only half-listened, his mouth one huge nerve concentrated on her petit fingers that grazed his lips with each bite she served him. She licked her own fingers enough, his body rose up in an 'enough-already' capitulation to her enticing existence.

"I want to help them catch whoever…" Ana nodded her ascent and stuffed a last bite in his mouth, then she followed Christian into the great room, nestling in beside him when he sat down on the sofa. Her arms clung around him and he rubbed her shoulder with gratitude. His was a natural response, as though she belonged there.

"I know you do. They are going to ask you to voluntarily submit DNA samples, to rule yourself out. It's a shitty tactic. You're damned if you do, damned if you don't."

"Dad—"

"I want you to listen very carefully. Your competencies as a doctor hold no value for you here, Christian. There is nothing you can do or say at this point that will help those poor women. Do you understand?"

"I understand. I'm not stupid. What did you think—"

"Tomorrow morning, you're going to be summoned to the West Precinct to provide the police with blood samples. Hair. Your fingerprints." Christian didn't say anything. "Where were you yesterday afternoon, Christian? Felix thinks you went to that Susannah girl's apartment." _Fucking Felix._ "You can only expose yourself to more legal jeopardy. Your best play is to listen to your lawyer."

"I'm all ears counselor."

There was a delay down the line. "And that is not me, unfortunately."

"Fuck." Ana shifted, covering him like a blanket.

"I'm not a criminal lawyer and you need a good one. The best. I called Marissa Logan. She's expecting your call. I wouldn't be surprised if she's already reached out to the DA." They exchanged particulars about his father's familiarity with Ms. Logan, the most likely scenarios Christian would face in the coming days, and a sincere exchange of familial affection. It wasn't a hallmark card by any means, but Ana's presence somehow minimized the distance Christian typically clung to when exposing his life to his family. God knows what they'd already heard about Susannah and Leila. What would the detectives have disclosed to this Logan woman?

Christian took some relief knowing that he had the support of his family. "Thank you dad. I don't know…" Christian gently stroked Ana's soft hair.

"It's alright Christian. It's what we're here for. We support you." A long silence stretched between the two men. "You are my son. I love you."

Christian had no response and the silence stretched longer as he buried the real feelings that rose up, the ones that said you don't deserve his love. The real truths that told him he was responsible, whether he beat Susannah to death or not. Whether Leila killed herself or died trying to warn him. _They have no idea who you really are._

"You just focus on work, and do whatever Marissa's team suggests—"

"The charity, dad. That's all I care about. I don't want to bring any bad publicity."

"MSF?"

"Yeah. Christ, I'm supposed to work in Afghanistan again this December. We're heading into the new campaign this winter, I'm the headliner for a dozen fundraisers. Felix is agitated over some bullshit the new Senator is stirring up. I don't want to hurt—"

"MSF is fine. Felix and Taylor will keep Wyatt Winfield in line while you figure this out. Who knows what's going to happen. You have to be very selfish. Very deliberate the next few weeks. Maybe you step away." Christian laughed at the thought—step away. Not a fucking chance. MSF was everything. It was his heartbreak, his heartache, his redemption.

His dad rattled on adding, "Your mom is prodding me to remind you about the ceremony? She says you know what it is…" Christian rolled his eyes, he'd had enough with the laurels. Everyone was so damn willing to overlook the lives forfeited, his… role. Did they even know?

"I'm not doing it. That's final. It's so fucking self-serving. The politics, it's just…" Bullshit he said to himself, and sighed. It was his mom, though. "Tell her—"

Ana tilted her head up from his chest to look into him. Her eyes offered understanding and resolve. He stroked from her exposed shoulder through the natural curve up her slender neck, framing her warm chin in his fingers. He was going to have to explain his scars to her, and expose his nasty life. Which did he fear more? Destroying her with the truth, or his own ruin when she walked away?

Now though, after the past twenty-four hours… He kissed her chastely and drew back, but not before her sultry moan snuck through.

"Do you have company Christian? My god! Do you really think that's wise?" His father's irritation was a welcome antidote to this indulgent familial commiseration that had gone on far too long.

"Dad, I have to go. Thanks. I'll uh… call Marissa. Talk to you… this week." He disconnected the call and tossed the phone on the empty cushion behind Ana.

"Your dad have good advice?"

"Yes. Breakfast was delicious. I'll have to remember to thank the Swedes the next time I see them."

"Are you going to follow it?"

He shook his head. _Can't it all just go away? Everything but her, please._ "You're gorgeous."

"Christian—"

"Yes, I'm going to follow it. Maybe." He pulled her hips all the way over, and when she was straddling him completely, he wrapped his large hands around her neck, his thumbs rubbing her rosy cheeks. "Now."

He angled his mouth to cover hers and when she spoke again, her breath tickled is nose. "And you're their prime suspect."

"Ana…" He held her still as he lost himself in her mouth, her taste, her affection. He kissed her hard and passionately. He wanted to give back her sweetness. At the same time, he wanted to share the turbulence she stirred up, with every flick of his tongue, every drag of his fingers, testing how much he could control his lack of restraint.

Could he express it physically? How she twisted him in knots? Christian groaned into her mouth, running his hand the length of her torso, pushing her round hips down on his erection. Her body winced. Naturally, he'd fucked her into oblivion this morning. She needed a break. They pulled back reluctantly, sighing and cooing over top of one another, they were so worked up.

"I can't believe you're new to kissing," she whispered.

"I think you're on your way to being an expert." He teased her mouth with his nose. "A PhD in tongue."

"An expert huh? Maybe. But you still need lots of practice." He leaned her back and as she arched away from him, her chest crushed into his.

"Wait. Wait Christian, I totally forgot." She sat up straight again. Running her fingers up and down his shoulders while she looked over the room, as if sizing up their surroundings. She whipped her head back to face him, a eureka smirk on her face. "Christian."

"Ana."

Her teeth grazed his earlobe as she continued. "We're in the living room now."

He gulped a breath and rubbed his cheek along her head. "Yes we are?" What's the catch?

She shifted a little, and fiddled with the hem of his sleeves. "I take it you're not familiar with the living room rules," she poked his stomach to punctuate her words.

"Ana…"

"I can't believe all the times I've sat on your lap on this couch and we're never discussed the dress code." Those words from her mouth, what an epic mind fuck. He was going to die sitting under her on this fucking couch, he knew it.

"Ana—"

"The rules are, doctor. No abs, no Ana. It's pretty basic." She bit his lip and twisted herself a bit where their centers met. "Now, if you'll please be so kind as to remove your shirt."

His head fell back on a massive laugh, his strong hands gripping her slightly apart from him. He let it all go. "Ana, baby. It doesn't work that way."

"Really? Hmm. What is _'it'_ exactly?" Her face scrunched up on the word.

By the time he'd caught his breath, her question had hit its mark. _What was 'it' exactly?_ He was powerless to fight. Ana pulled at his shirt collar, determined to whip it over is head. He grabbed her wrists and kissed them at the pulse points.

"Christian, I get it. This is rare for you. It's difficult." He pulled back to ask her— "To be so unguarded." He was tongue-tied and helpless.

"I don't know what to say, Ana. I'm sorry."

She hesitated a beat before she spoke and her slow, raspy voice was almost a plea. "They look like stretch marks," her eyes pierced his, pale blue searching his dark grey. "But they're not, are they?" A life's worth of longing seized his heart and that fucking vagus shivered out a helix of emotion, coursing in a thousand directions though his nerves, like a sprung coil of desire and disgust.

"They're my past Ana." _She could be my future. I think I'd move heaven and earth to prevent the two from ever meeting._

"But—"

"One day, Ana. One day I will tell you. Not today, baby. I want to live in this bubble."

"I'm not going anywhere." She hesitated. "I mean… I can't imagine you could say anything to disappointment me." She looked defeated, even though she'd broken down so many barriers and she didn't even know. "Please?"

They sat together looking at each other, no words passed between them. He stroked his thumb over her mouth. He really did love her. What was he supposed to do now?

"Where have you been?" He slipped his dark shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor behind them, exposing his marred skin for her inspection. But Ana shocked him when she did the same, giggling when her sweatshirt grazed a nearby lamp. She was breathtaking. The storm rippling outside pierced the silence as they both held their breath, and a knowing tenderness lingered between them.

Ana lifted her chin. It was almost a defiant motion. He was bewildered. She blinked back an emotion and declared herself. "I'm here now."

She feathered his lips and kissed him so gently he stilled himself to savor the chill. "I'm here."

He felt her hand as it gingerly caressed down his shoulder to his chest, where it settled between their crushed bodies. She kissed his mouth again. "I'm here."

Ana placed her other hand on his forehead where she leaned into him and she kissed his mouth again. "I'm here."

And with her words, her small gestures, she saved him. Christian Grey released all his control, his distance and shame, in a surrender so genuine, so complete—he felt torn apart and whole at once.

* * *

 _xoxo_

 _thank you for your continued support_


	18. Chp 18 You're Mine

_A/N A huge thank you to all of you who have favorited and followed this story. Thank you for all of your messages and kind words of encouragement. I can't believe so many of you have signed up to get an alert. It blows my mind. I know my story is way different, and I appreciate your attention. Like really, I appreciate it so so much. Enough of my annoying voice… let's see what these two are saying to each other._

 _This chapter marks the end of Part One_

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 18 — You're Mine**

 _Sunday, August 6_

"I'm here," Ana whispered.

She's here now, but for how long? Once she knew his secrets, she would run.

His skin itched below her. The layered meaning behind her entreaties warmed pockets of air behind his lungs. When she bent to kiss him again, her soft thighs cradled his waist, blanketing his scars.

"I'm here." It was a veiled plea to accept her, and in return, she would accept him. Accept his confession.

"I don't want to talk about it Ana." He noted her deadpan expression, her tilted head. He figured she'd googled him. She probably read all about his whitewashed heroics in that Kunduz hospital in 2009. He pinched the bridge of his nose while she shook her head.

"Something happened at Susannah's yesterday, Christian."

"It did." He settled a hand along the heartbreaking nape of her neck, and he kissed her with more passion. Recalling their connection in the dark closet, he shifted his hips, stimulating Ana's core. They moaned their pleasure. Her mouth was made for him, and the kiss seemed to last for hours.

While her supple body pressed down on him, her head protested and she pulled back. "I don't mean _that_." She blushed crimson, at the same time she frowned. "I think you took something. Not the letters or the Dom… extra phone." His brow creased, he really didn't know what she was talking about. "You rearranged her invitations Christian. Why did you do that?"

He grew silent and looked out the window at the flat gray sky. It was his turn to bite his lip.

She went on. "Dr. Ramal said August is tough for you. Does it have anything to do with that newspaper clipping?"

"Ana." This time he shifted to withdraw from her. She was too skinny, her sacrum bones poked his thighs, her skin was clammy against his middle and he desperately wanted the sleeves of his shirt back.

"Yesterday, when I was waiting for you in the doctor's lounge, there was an old article sticking out of your jacket pocket. Dr. Ramal came in and, to be honest, he was so intimidating, I…"

"You saw that?"

"What did I see?" she asked. Christian held a tight expression and nodded at an imaginary point behind her.

Ana grabbed his hand and wove her fingers with his, kissing him. "Tell me about Doctors Without Borders." He feathered his fingers across her collar bone, then traced a line down her chest, between her breasts.

He opened his mouth to shut her down to lick her goose pimped flesh. Get the morning back to where he wanted, smart banter and kissing that devolves into the fuckfest he'd imagined for weeks, but when he spoke, something else came out.

"In 2009 during the summer, between med school and my residency, Elliot and I popped our humanitarian cherries at an MSF trauma center in Kunduz, Afghanistan. Kunduz was a war-torn scrap of a town. It was six weeks of charity and dread. Every morning I woke up thinking I'd died. At night, I'd pray I woke up at all. Or that some miraculous sinkhole would open up and swallow me.

"Despite the dangerous atmosphere, it was my first assignment, and I was eager to be the best. At everything." His subdued tone was obvious. "It didn't work, no matter how I managed myself. Horror and a dull futility surrounded our work. The people were so worn down, they looked like ghouls. It was oppressive. I had no business running anything, much less managing a political clusterfuck in a DMZ (demilitarized zone). We treated…" _women and children,_ "every kind of medical malady. Afghan forces, locals, special ops, and even Taliban soldiers. No one told me to ask for papers or ID." He shrugged. "We administered medicine. 600 beds of sickness and death spread out over three floors. Toward the end of my tour… Would it shock you to learn that a US airstrike hit the hospital?"

Ana shook her head, holding her breath. Her dad was military intelligence. She got it.

"Friendly fire. An AC-130 warplane that knew our GPS coordinates for three fucking days. Didn't matter, they lit us up, over and over. It was sickening." Ana sat still, her soft eyes a comfort. "Elliot was up north in Herat with some tribal mess, I think he was really playing soccer, the fucker. And there was a woman, an Iranian translator.

"I was late for a pre-dawn staff meeting, and they all died when the strike began. Burned to death in their chairs. The whole building lit up like a torch. I was on my own after the first wave of bombs. I speak several languages, but triage has it's own vocabulary and dialect. I was so new, so raw. Communication was difficult." Thinking of his caveman pointing to articulate complicated procedures, he smiled, and Ana's face lit up. He scowled at her sweetness, and wrapped a locket of her hair around his fingers. "Elliot was a little more experienced and he knew the locals, which would have been nice. I guess in hindsight I've always been glad he wasn't there. No way both Greys miss that early morning meeting." Ana stiffened and held her breath as the implications of his statement sunk in.

"The attack went on for two hours. The fucking fire. The Pentagon claims it was thirty minutes. Not true. The bombs continued for thirty minutes after the assholes in Kabul and Washington were first informed. Anyway, we evacuated everyone we could. Patients, children, the medical personnel." End of story.

"Christian—"

"Susannah had an article about it mounted at her place. I figured she didn't need it anymore. So I took it."

Ana coiled back, then slipped off the couch, kneeling between his feet. She brought her face close to his stomach, to inspect his torso. She ran her hands over his ring of skin tattoos, his scars. Christian could draw a map of each one. Each narrow slash in his skin. There were dozens of defects, some simple pocks, discolored craters. They formed an ugly sash around his waist. He closed his eyes as hers swept over his mutilated flesh, swept over the two- and three -inch gashes etched in white skin.

Several had required stitches at the time, but it was hours before he treated them. He knew those pale imperfections well. They ached and pulled, taunting him, calling his mind back to his morbid decisions and the hideous actions he took. He'd spent eight years coping with those decisions. Fading into himself, medicating. Coping. His entire existence was a calculated response to those murderous sixty minutes, to the lives he ended.

He could see now how letting Ana in had been the culmination of a turning point that began two months ago with he sent Krystal to rehab. When he let Leila stay even after she declared her feelings for him. When Ana found out, she would leave. And that, he'd never recover from. Even knowing that she's run, she was still there now, in a strange graceful declaration: 'Let me in,' her eyes pleaded. And he knew he was going to let her in. He was damning myself and he couldn't give a fuck. She was everything.

Ana's proud chin, and those bee stung lips hovered over his aroused core, where his hard cock threatened to escape. She ignored it, just as he ignored his basest impulses—instead wincing back the growing tide of unease at yet another of Ana's invasions. She kissed his gnarled body with mercy, then crawled back into his lap.

"All these scars—" she pressed her fingertips into his forearms to lift them, and surveyed the bumpy area where his shame continued on the soft undersides, "you got them that day?" She leaned her face into his left arm, and nuzzled it. Then the right.

He said "yes," then dismissed her. "Here, you're cold." He bent forward and they laughed at the comedy of him cradling her against him while he stretched his taut arm down to retrieve the sweatshirt that had fallen on the floor behind her. He didn't exactly want to cover her perfect tits, but he wanted her to stay on his lap.

"You know you have to tell me the whole story, right?"

"There's nothing more to tell."

"What?" She wined.

"Is that going to work for you?" his rhetoric brokered no argument. And his ensuing silence told the story. He would share nothing more. He waited for her reaction. Hell, he would have waited for weeks, because he was so damn happy she was on his lap.

"You're impossible,Christian." She ran her hands up and down his chest. "Two weeks ago, I would have said no, I need to hear all of it from you before we can be anything. But…" She pressed her face to his and her breath trickled across his cheek as she weighed what to say. "Now, I don't know. I feel like, the way we are together, I don't have a choice but to accept what you'll give me. I am drawn to you Christian. I want to know everything about you. More than that, I want to be with you." He shifted uncomfortably and she felt it. She looked up, and her hidden lip told him she was reconsidering her words.

"Ana, letting you see me. Exposing myself to you." He eyes closed slowly as he grit out the next part. "Letting you touch me. This makes me uncomfortable." She nodded. "I want you to stay. I don't understand why you haven't left yet. You are so…" Pure and clean. Those words came to mind, but they weren't enough. They felt small compared to Ana. "I don't want to fill your head with my transgressions."

"Christian, you make your wounds sound like some legality. They are scars. You've been injured." That was an understatement. "These aren't burns from a bombing. They are deliberate, like fighting wounds. Who did this to you? How did it happen?"

"Isn't it enough that I want you Ana?"

"I want you—"

"Is it wrong that I want to keep the most gruesome parts of me away from you?"

"Yes, it's wrong. How can _we_ be real if you're not real with me? You can't say it's the end of the story. I need the whole story."

"What about you, Anastasia Steele? What about your story?"

"Just…" She made a sound to blow off steam and he grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her in.

"I don't want to lose you." With her neck and jaw in a tight grip, he angled his head and pulled her down to kiss him. When their lips touched, he opened his eyes so he could watch hers close. Her eyelids fluttered shut, as her thick lashes forced out tears. He watched her surrender, savoring his mouth on hers, bending to the whirlpool of desire and need between them. It was a pure moment and he sighed at her grace. Her submission.

Suddenly, slivers of Ana's blue eyes peaked out through her lashes, like she wanted to catch a glimpse of the same thing. Smiling, their noses bumped and they continued to kiss, absorbing their shared romance. As they fell into each other, he pulled as much love from her mouth as she offered. He needed to taste it, to suck it off her innocent lips, because he only had bitterness.

His chest rumbled between them, and he forced his tongue around the whole inside of her mouth to taste her goodness. He devoured her pretty lips with a resigned hate that God would create such a perfect creature, and then fill the world with so much violence and death, that they couldn't be together without shame or sorrow. Without destroying each other.

"Where'd you go Christian? She rasped out. "One minute I was in the middle of the best kiss of my life and the next minute you were out to sea, off somewhere in a different universe." He was only capable of a grunted response, and that seemed to spur her on.

She started with his hair, and rose up on her knees astride him to ghost his forehead with her mouth. He groaned in appeasement with her body flush against his naked chest and he squeezed her thighs against him. With her face and lips, she mapped every inch of him, his brow, his eyelids, his cheeks and nose. Likes she had a tiny paint brush in her hand and she was painting a portrait of him.

They kissed for a long time and held each other tightly, until they finally needed a breath. They were panting in unison, foreheads and noses touching.

* * *

Ana asked, "What are you thinking?" He caressed her arms, running his large hands over her shoulders. Not breaking the union, he took a deep breath to absorb the peace between them. He felt like a boat floating on still waters. He opened his eyes because he had to. He had to look at her, to feed on her presence.

She was devastating. Lovely and smart, sexy and chaste. Her plaintive smile said tell me anything and I'll accept it. Her soft eyes said I can see beyond your past. Her pouty mouth said I can weave the tattered threads of your life into a future with me.

She was perched on his lap like Scheherazade. Would she stay for a thousand nights? Then her nose crinkled like she was trying to figure out what he was thinking. He regarded her a second longer, and she let out a huge sigh.

"You're so beautiful Christian." Leaning in yet again, she whispered, "What are you thinking, you beautiful man?"

"Do you know the story of Scheherazade?"

"What?!" she gasped. "I can't believe you asked me that."

"Why?" He tapped her nose with his finger.

"Because I was thinking of Scheherazade too."

"Ana—"

Grabbing his shoulders, she leaned back distracted by something beyond his vision. "I was thinking of her too… but for very different reasons I bet." She looked chastened. But why?

A look passed between them. _Different reasons? What was she thinking?_ Christian went with honeymoon tales. He immediately thought of Ana's second flood of orgasm, when she'd writhed underneath him in his bed. Her moan went on and on, as she clenched around him. Scheherazade was known for her sexual stories as well as the legends, Aladdin, Sinbad. Maybe she wants more sex. But what she said next, he wasn't ready for.

His voice was drowning in arousal, his Dom voice nothing more than a past memory. He barely wheezed out, "Ana, why do you—"

"I fantasized that, that you're my prince. And maybe if we kept talking and kissing right now. If we keep having these in depth conversations, if I kept talking. Maybe you'd…"

 _Fall in love with you? Say it. Say you're falling in love with me, Ana. I'll answer. Say yes, she must sense it._ Instead, she hesitated. Jesus Christ he wanted her. What she was doing to her lip could be considered assault. He ran his thumb over her lips, coaxing them to separate. _Come on Ana, you must be feeling this._

"I thought. I thought if we talked long enough, I might build up enough good will that you might forgive me for what I'm about to tell you." _Forgive her? She's perfect._ But his heavy story about Kunduz weighed on him, he was vulnerable—even if she didn't know the details, she knew he was bad. God he was falling apart. What the fuck?

He sat calmly, and his hands naturally crossed over his torso, which Ana noticed immediately and he wished he could change the hurt in her face. "I have this incredibly difficult thing to tell you. And I'm worried. I've been so worried. First of all. God, this sucks. Christian, I don't want to tell you. You're going to be pissed at me…" She started to cry.

"Baby. I couldn't. I won't."

She shifted. "Hmm… We'll see. Second, I don't want to do this. You have to understand…" she whined. "This is NOT something I want to do. I have spent two days trying to _not_ do it."

"Two days? That's…"

"Yeah. Before." He felt her slip away as she tensed up, and while his instinct slid into self-preservation, he felt sympathy, that whatever was on her mind was difficult. He searched for words of encouragement. But they wouldn't come. The storm outside showed no signs of abating, and he felt that the longer he waited to talk—the deeper he looked in her eyes— the further the atmosphere outside creeped in between them.

"What is it you don't want to do? Tell me." He fought his urge to hold her face and smooth back her hair. "What is it Ana?" The Dom was back.

"I have to leave. Leave Seattle." What? Christian choked out a breath, and his insides exited his mouth in a gasp of pain. A sharp catch deep in his throat was the only thing holding his heart back. "My work with Seattle Grace is on a contingency contract. Because… I came out here temporarily. Because you know, my dad died."

"Alright." He had so many questions. Where did she come from? Was she not staying? What the fuck is a contingency contract?

"And I've been—"

"Ana, contingency contracts. Baby, both parties have to agree, right?" He sounded reasonable, as though he might yet contain the sparked fuse that whipped back and forth in his chest, tinging and burning the dark corners that had reignited because of her. Now they were lit and the heat began to throb inside him. He was going to lose her.

She looked at him, like she had no idea what he was talking about. Or maybe she was silently telling him that she wanted to go. Or that she agreed… "What? No. It's a contingency contract. I don't know. I have to go where they tell me." His eyes closed slowly. They? Who is they?

"Where are you going?" He was frustrated. Who did she work for? It seemed she was letting him down easy with her delivery and there wouldn't be a discussion about if she would leave him. He had to touch her or he was going to lose it, so he did. Her quivering cheeks slowed his pulsing rage.

Her Scheherazade reference… What was she thinking? Quick Grey, before you crush her in your desperate grip. She wanted his forgiveness, to save herself, she wanted his love. At least he thought—maybe he was reading this all wrong.

"Richmond Virginia."

"What!" He squeezed her biceps too hard and she twisted to get away. He was stronger and faster than she, so he pulled her in and held her like a teddy bear. He could keep her here, in Escala, show her a different contract. _She was his._ "You're not going to Richmond, baby."

But he knew she was. He knew she'd begun to cry in earnest too. His tightening embrace was met with her stiffening body. He felt desperately close and rejected at once. Missing her before he even moved, he slid her off his body and rose to get some distance. To recenter himself. "Fuck this shit!" He retreated to his bedroom to calm down. To sedate himself. To surrender.

Ana shuttled behind him into his suite. When he turned back on her, he groaned that her wet cheeks were flush, almost the same color as her lips. He had to touch her, to kiss her.

"Christian, please listen. It's not a big deal." He pushed off her and moved across the room, lifting the duvet from the floor back onto the bed, in case she followed.

"Ana, you're the one who just said you couldn't tell me for two fucking days. It's a big fucking deal." He grumbled at the ceiling, pacing and pulling on his hair. He stared at her, squinting, trying to figure out what was going on. Contracts, Virginia, two days. It wasn't adding up. "That's what all the phone calls were about?"

She approached him, nodding. He took a step back but she stepped forward. She reached up and moved a piece of his hair off his forehead. He leaned into the intimacy, he liked her hands on him. Only him. His spine told him. Well the sense of owning her hands started in his head, but charged to his heart and the chambered walls began beating a panicked rhythm. "It wasn't your ex, chasing down deadbeats?"

"Christian—"

"Was this your plan? Fuck me so I'd be I'd be yours. And then take off."

"You're mine?" she squeaked.

What? He smiled and sighed with a head shake, exasperated. She put her hand over his heart. "Yes. Ana, Don't. I don't want this. Not now. Answer me. Tell me. What was your plan? To get me to fuck you and then you'd just leave?

"You're full of surprises. You sent me packing on Friday. And then show up Saturday all doe-eyed and horny. Is that why you were crying Friday, before Leila came and interrupted you? You were going to have to—"

"No—" She whispered, frozen by his accusation.

"To get me to fuck you and then what?" She shook her head as tears welled in the bottom of her eyes. He was so done with her fucking tears. "This is why Ana! This is why I don't…

"Fuck!" He cut off his sneer by biting his lip and stared at her, hands on his hips. His chin fought a snarl. He was perspiring he was so worked up. And he wanted her to look away from him, let him have this moment.

Instead, his mind picked right now to flash a memory— _'You like to fuck hard'_ —he was still missing part of that story.

"Anastasia, you said it from the start. _'You like to fuck hard?'_ What the fuck was that about? Were you teasing me?" He leaned into her, taunting her sad expression.

She sagged at his accusations, defeated. A sob burbled out, and nothing more.

"Jesus Ana! How the hell did you know I said it? Where did you hear it?" He crossed his arms and leaned into the corner. He had nowhere to hide. He was losing it, losing her, and he was powerless to stop himself. The storm was inside him now, rippling below his skin in a frenzy of need and rejection.

She swallowed. "I can't. I don't have an answer for you. I—"

"You what?"

"I was… trying to stay away from you. I saw you that… that day in the clinic, and I wanted you. I wanted to meet you. I wanted to be with you so much." That hollow desire in his chest was back, dragging him down. "You were so beautiful and your eyes, these dark grey eyes, the way you looked into me." She reached up to touch him, but stopped herself. "And then I thought you might rip off the arms of my patient." She snorted through a chaste smile. "I'm sorry. I was overwhelmed by you. Your posture, your calm authority."

"You were intimidated. I felt it. You thought I was a menace. Just say it—"

"No. I was so far from intimidated. I thought, I thought you could…" Her eyes pierced his, "unearth me." Unearth her? Jesus she's so fucking real. He grabbed her wrists and yanked her into his chest.

"Baby, I…" _Let me love you. Let me show you._ She spread her hands out and pushed off in defense.

"Please. Listen. I was nervous. I didn't know how to process the way I reacted to… to just seeing you. You weren't even standing that close to me." She was sobbing into his armpit. The vibrations of her voice made his heart skip. He enveloped her. "Geez, don't hug me more. I don't deserve it." She pushed back on him, but he denied her and held on as though she were the anchor.

"Shh, it's okay. You don't have to explain. Because I felt it too."

"You did?" He gripped her shoulders and leaned her back so she could see the sincerity in his face.

"Yes, Ana. This connection…" He searched her eyes for confirmation. Ana swallowed and continued, running her nose along his sternum.

"That night, when you got in the elevator with me. I was consumed by you, by your gorgeous face, your cologne. These hands." She threaded hers in his. "God, your hands, when you slid your card in for our floor. I could've melted right there." He couldn't fight his arousal now, her vulnerability, this confession of hers, it was beyond lust and the physical for her too. He was elated.

"Ana. I want you. So fucking much."

"I'm so sorry I blurted out that stupid comment. I heard it somewhere."

Christian tensed for a moment at her confession—she was lying, she didn't just hear it _somewhere_ —but he let it go. His instinct for self-preservation had faded hours ago when he'd slid into her tight little body.

Now, he ignored her words. They were pointless anyway. There was no need for secrets between them. He'd do anything for her. Didn't she know that? Maybe it's because you scare the shit out of her you maniac. He took a deep breath and tried a different tack.

"So you have a client in another state, in Virginia? How long will you be gone?" And can she do her job without touching? He was seriously fucked now.

Ana hesitated.

"Crap, Sophie," she rolled her eyes.

"I'll look after Sophie?"

"Do you mind?" They'd been inseparable for two days, again. And she's back to the formalities.

"Christ Ana, no I don't fucking mind!"

"What's wrong?"

"You didn't ask if I wanted to watch your goddamn dog on Friday, when you locked me out of your apartment." Was he pouting?

She held his hand, "No. I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere."

He leaned back again, and shoved his hands through his hair, heavy from perspiration. "What kind of massage therapist has out of town clients that fly them around the country for fuck's sake?"

"Are you jealous?" Jealous? Well yeah, maybe he was jealous.

"The good news is that it's a temporary assignment."

"How temporary? And where is your boss anyway?" Wait until she hears my bad news. That as of today, her hands are mine, and she's not touching anyone but me. Fuck her job. Fuck her boss. Fuck her fucking phone.

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks huh? And that's the good news? What else, Ana?" She's even trying to spin what's good and bad. His breathing slowed and each breath became a deliberate act. Fourteen days, anything could happen to her in fourteen days.

"I've been the contingency massage therapist for the Washington Redskins for a while." _The football team? No. Fuck, no! They probably went through therapists like tic tacs. Or call girls._ She was still talking. "Friday, I got notice that I report to training camp in Richmond this Monday morning." Christian was shaking his head, seriously considering yanking the sashes off the curtain rods and tying Ana to the base of the Schiaparelli sofa next to them. Instead, he sunk down in it. "Dr. Taylor knew about my commitment when he hired me. It was in my contract." My contracts are different baby. His cock twitched at the thought.

"This is bullshit? When exactly were you hired by Dr. Taylor?" He motioned for her to sit on his lap.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you just started in July. Taylor hired you to work for a month? Knowing you were going to leave to go to an NFL training camp? I can't get my fucking head around this."

"How do you know when I started working?" He slid his firm hands up her neck on both sides to hold her head in place.

"Are you going to answer every question with another fucking question? Because I'm about to break something Ana. You cannot be serious. You cannot go to Virginia to fondle fifty men."

When she spoke, her breath reached him fractionally before her words, and he felt her smiling. "It's closer to seventy-five. It's training camp, there haven't been cuts yet." She thinks this is funny? A quick flip and he could spank her into next week. And she'd still be in fucking Virginia.

He leaned against her chest. She'd only shared three facts, he doubted the veracity of each of them, and he was about to ignite. Christian knew every aspect of his anger well, and when provoked, he typically bordered on raging intensity, dulled by narcotics. Very rarely, he drifted into fury. Cold and dark, stunning in its clarity and easy to identify. His nightstand was near by, and the drugs inside needled him, shaved at his control.

She's fucking nuts. He pictured her hands—the long slender ones holding firmly to his wrists, probably to keep him from pinching her face—touching other men, the way she touched that amputee the first day he saw her. He was already squeezing her so tightly, if his grip shifted anymore, he wouldn't be able to understand her. _Ana, I love you, don't leave me._ "I liked it better when you were asking the questions."

* * *

"Tell me the truth. What was your plan? To get me to fuck you and then you'd just leave?"

"Come on, it's only two weeks. You blew me off for a week. And besides all that… I already told you that I tried to stay away." She's so calm and believable. I want to believe her.

"That's not an answer." He shoved her off and stood to pace again. "My god, Ana. This doesn't make any sense. The Redskins have been practicing for weeks. The PT team's been in place for months. NFL teams don't make these decisions last minute."

She just stared at him.

"This fucking makes no sense. No one called you Sunday morning and said, _'We need you to fly to Virginia immediately,'_ and—"

"Friday, it was Friday when they called me."

Her eager interruption snaked into his icy anxiety and his ears tingled at her consolation. She'd been miserable for two days, she didn't want to leave him. He bent down and kissed her where she sat. Just a taste, to take the sting from his chest away for a minute.

All the blood rushed to his dick as he hovered against her, floating in the middle of his sofa. She held his face while she deepened the kiss and sang his name over and over as he kissed her tenderly, starting with her chin and working his way across her entire head and neck. She was his goddamnit.

He knelt in front of her. "Hell, baby. I don't know how to deal with this." He mumbled into the velvet basin where her soft neck met her shoulder. He said it more to himself, but she heard nonetheless.

"What do you mean?"

"How are you going to do this? The idea of you touching these men… I can't keep my hands off you. I crave your touch, the intimacy… You're going to touch these men who are worked up. They'll want you. They'll fucking want to touch you. You've been… you're going to bring them pleasure Ana. I don't know how to deal with this."

"No, it's not like that. It's not like that at all."

"What's it like then? I haven't even been with you that way." His eyes scanned her face for reassurance or deceit.

"I don't understand Christian. We had the best sex of my life this morning. What are you saying?"

"Your hands." He kissed her wrist. "The touching. It's an intimacy I have trouble with."

"God, you're adorable Dr. Grey, but stop. I've touched you for two straight days. I've touched other people since you met me. I'm a professional."

"That was before." He froze and stared into her, intense and unyielding.

"Wha-what are you saying? Before when? Before yesterday?"

"Christian. Like I can't work?" When his raised brow gave her all confirmation she needed that she was right, she groaned and rolled her eyes to heaven. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Your hands are mine."

"Nope. Stop. I told you, I don't want to go, but I have to. Alright?" He knew she was right, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

"Is this a fight?" He was smiling with his mouth open, trying to catch his breath through his relief and excitement, all this adrenaline? And no one had to suffer. He was elated.

"What?"

"We're fighting. Like a couple."

"Yes, you idiot." That made him grin and tingle. _Fuck me!_ He wasn't going to last.

"Ana, I'm not going to warn your smart mouth again. It's touching that you recognize I'm behind on the learning curve." He tickled her ribs, "that you take so much pleasure in pointing out my mental deficits. However, I have my limits, baby. This fighting has me worked up." He sat down beside her and took her hands in his lap. She shifted onto her knees and knelt beside him. Christ, again with the kneeling? He was so hard. "Ana, I feel a strong urge to take you right now. For my pleasure only."

"Slow down. I need to make sure we're okay, with what I have to do." He nodded and sat back, bringing her with him for closeness. He huffed a long breath out and rubbed his hands up and down face, resigned to what he was about to say.

"Ana, maybe it's better that you're going out of town." He rubbed her fingers in his hands. "Temporarily. Because you'll be safer." He conceded. "I was already calculating how to keep you out of your apartment until the police caught the killer."

"Oh really? Like how would that work?" Her face hovered next to his, and they just shared the moment, her challenge not really a challenge. More of an acknowledgment that they were together.

That smile of hers slayed him. "I don't know." _You'd move in. I'd drive you to and from work. I'd cook for you. Fuck you non-stop._ He squeezed her hands and kisses her soundly. "I do know that I don't want you running around by yourself when there is a killer who may look at you," he caressed her cheek and she snuggled into his side as she stared up into his serious face, "baby, there's no way around it—the killer might look at you, and see… them."

A smile trickled up her face then faded again quickly. "I confess I was thinking the same thing, but I didn't want to bring up… you know. I was going to make that argument too."

He grew quiet, and fussed with her hair to maintain their connection. "You know, you've haven't asked me yet. If I hurt them."

She gave him a puzzled look, her nose crinkling up, rejecting the implication. "No, you're right. I haven't asked you if you murdered two women that you knew intimately. God. This whole conversation is making me very uncomfortable."

* * *

"I have an idea. Why don't I give you a massage now? Something between us, so we have that," she was whining. And even though he'd pictured her hands all over him, doing just that, it was in response to her loving offer that a full vision of a previous massage entered his mind.

Nina Petrova was the last person to give him a massage. In Afghanistan, before his body was destroyed by his morbid choices. He'd blocked the memories for so long, but now Nina's punishing hands and her soft broken cadences were in his head. She was Russian. A masseuse with the Bolshoi Ballet, who spent her spring and summers volunteering with MSF. She held many other titles for Christian. Lover, confidant, accomplice. What the hell was he doing? Dragging Ana with him.

"What is it? You just turned to stone." He didn't respond.

"Not a massage then, a treatment? A healing treatment, with my hands, just for you?"

"No."

"Please come on. I promise you'll enjoy it. We'll both enjoy it. Please? Let me do this for you. I understand what you're saying, how you might think all of my work is extremely intimate. Let me show you it's not. Let me give you my intimacy. Working with athletes is different, they don't want to lie down, they want to move, they want to repair. It's nothing like what I could share with you. What we will share. But you have to let me. Please? I wanted to do this yesterday—"

"Don't beg Ana. Never beg me." With one hand, he wiped her hair away and held her face against his. He felt her eyes blink. "I know what you want, baby. You want to give me a massage as if that will somehow take the sting out of you leaving me? You think that somehow if you touch every part of me, that you can feel better knowing you're leaving in a few hours?"

"That's not true. How can you say that? You don't know what I've done—"

"How can I say that? How can I not? And you cannot even begin to fathom what I have done."

"Christian."

"Ana."

"Honestly, this is not how I wanted this conversation to go. I didn't want you to threaten me with your past behavior. Which if I put my detective hat on… sorry poor choice of words. If I think about you, I bet your sex habits are tied up with these scars." She was back on his lap captivating him with her earnest pleas, her pale blue eyes and her naughty body, barely dressed and likely wet and ready.

"Ana, if you had any idea the thoughts that go through my head, you would walk out and never return. You can't even touch me that way. I don't want you to go. I'm demanding," say it, "I'm asking you not to go."

"Just stop. You're hurting me. I don't want to go to Virginia anymore than you don't want me to go. But you threatening me. Telling me how awful you are, and then asking me not to go. It's making my head spin. This is real, you and I, what we're exploring. I'm not some submissive that's going to demand your love." She shook her head. "I want to know you. I want to make moments with you, and… share our lives.

"What Ana? Present me with a German SUV? With a big fucking red bow on Christmas morning?"

Ana huffed out a laugh. She licked her lip and sighed, staring at the ceiling. She shifted her core in a seductive little roll. "You're saying Christmas morning. Is that an option here?"

"What are you taking about?"

"It's August. Christmas is a few months away. Are you asking me for a date in December? Is that your Christmas list? A red bow and a car?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stood, taking her with him scooped in his arms, and strode three steps to his bed, bouncing her first then landing on her splayed body.

This was more talking than Christian Grey had done in years. "Ana, can we hurry this argument along? I want to fuck you blind."

"Oh, god that's so hot. Yes, Christian. Yes to everything." She slid to the center of his bed, and whipped her top off. Eager for him to get back on her, she followed his eyes to their destination over her left shoulder. His open closet door. The reflection in the mirror. His neckties. "Oh, no. You said fuck me blind. Not blind fuck me." He was already between her legs, lifting them to secure the release of her underwear over his shoulder.

"Ana." He tilted his head this way and that, considering. His lips were between his teeth, to hide his smile.

"Nope, Dr. Smooth. Not happening." They smiled in unison. He leaned over her, nuzzling her neck to stir up her sweet scent. There was a foreign quality to the smell of her skin—at once intriguing and seductive, a heady mixture of elegance, with wisps of orange and soap. He couldn't get enough.

"You're a delight, Ms. Steele."

"I'm delightful?" She used her hands and feet to push his pants down.

"No, you're delighting." His fingers found her center, and he tapped lightly on the skin around her opening, teasing her.

"Ahh, I'm delightly?"

"No baby. You're mine." Then he rolled on top of her to have her again and again.

* * *

He had to take her, even though she must be sore. Christian simply wanted her, so much. And even though he'd already had her twice, the heated exchanges of the past twenty minutes had twisted inside him until he felt his equilibrium slip. If he had to self-diagnose, he'd say he was a mess, an inexperienced man fumbling through an encounter with a goddess.

He extended his strokes and his licks, to encourage her sexy body to open up for him again. To give him time to settle down. He wondered why he was so unsettled in the first place. He hummed her name to assert himself, no colorful phrases of seduction, just simply her name. Her.

As her throaty noises echoed between them, he grew even harder. He was aware of the slightest changes. That behind his throbbing dick, there was a distant tug in his core, and he didn't recognize it, didn't know why he felt it. Why he was wound so tightly? The sensations pulled at his limbs, sending shocks coiling through his body, like a scorching braid of desire and love.

He tried to summon his Dom voice as she undulated below him, knowing any second he'd fall apart. Ana twisted and grinded, her chest pressed to his as their physical pants fought against each other. When her hard nipples scraped his torso, that braid unwound itself and he knew—holy fuck he knew—as the good vibrations spun and spun and spun, that this thing, this craven whip of need between them, was unmanageable. He was out of control.

"Ana," hell he sounded depraved, "Ana, baby you get on top." He swallowed forcefully to push down his emotions, and focused all his attention on that sweet spot between her thighs, perfectly swollen and glistening. "You're sore. You set the pace. Take it slow." He sat up partially, resting his upper back against his headboard.

And she bit him, she fucking bit his lips and moved over his torso to straddle him, giggling as she went. "I'd be delighted Dr. Grey." Pressing her hands to his chest as she rubbed her clit up and down his length.

The slap to her ass that accompanied his silent demand that she, "hush," was met with surprised blue eyes and a slow unwinding laugh that seemed to travel directly from her mouth into his heart. He arched his neck, and rocked up into her, free and connected.

"Don't make me close my eyes, okay? I want to watch. I want to see us together. I want to look in your eyes. You have a beautiful soul. And somehow I think I may be the only one who's ever seen it."

She leaned down onto him, squeezing her thighs around his waist. He'd called her to quiet again, and thought a thousand reasons at once why he needed to find his control.

Her mouth moved over his and kissed him softly. When her small hand circled his girth, and guided him to her entrance, he sighed at the feeling. She slid down onto him, and he thrust hard filling her, earning a staccato "yes." She leaned up and arched her back. Never breaking eye contact, she made love to him, as he knotted their hands together over his heart.

"How does that feel, baby?"

"How do you do that?" she sung out picking up her speed, their slick skin the only sounds he heard, her wetness soaking his core.

"Do what?"

"Change your voice. I mean it's already really rough and low…sexy… but sometimes when you talk, you make it sound like you want me so much." He grabbed her hips and pushed her down on him, thrusting hard three times, one two, three. Her breath throttled out in sync.

"Does that feel like I want you?"

Ana blurted out some combination of sounds that might make sense to a toddler, but he just laughed. "Give me your right hand, Ana."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, sucking her long index finger into his mouth. Ana's moan encouraged him to add another finger, pushing them deeply into his mouth, rolling his tongue around and between them. He uncurled her ring finger and sucked it loudly as she shifted her hips and let her clit slide across his stomach. Her fingers were coated and slippery.

"Christian, I'm close."

He tilted his hips from side to side, to relieve some of the tension Ana was so focused on, then he tilted her palm until her pinkie slid in. He was sucking all four fingers between his lips and his tongue, really pulling them down all the way past their knuckles. Eventually he pulled her hand out with a pop, his chin wet, saliva hanging from his lips. He sucked on her thumb through his teeth, nipping and chewing, sucking it raw. "Where do you feel this, baby?" He asked, licking his flat tongue across her palm over and over.

"Oh god," she fell forward. "Everywhere, I feel you everywhere, Christian." Her desperate sounds spurred him on and he rose up to bury himself deeper in her channel.

"Pull on your nipples, Ana. Use your wet hand. And give my your left." While Ana played with one nipple, Christian tended to her other hand, giving it the same sensual sucking treatment, marking her. And it turn she would mark her own body. "Now play with yourself baby, use this hand. Make yourself come while you ride me."

Ana slowed down and froze, before rocking her head to the side in surrender. He grabbed her hips and took over her body, her orgasms, and hopefully her heart. Because she was the sexiest, most feral creature he could imagine. She owned her passion. The way her body sucked him in, the way his balls ached below her tight ass. She was perfect.

Ana's face scrunched up and she looked lost in a haze of lust. "Ana, baby what is it."

Instead she burst out laughing, "I don't know what to do. I feel so amazing, I've never felt like this before. God, you're amazing." She fell onto him and pressed her breasts against him, the tips made him moan. Ana forced her way past his lips and fucked his mouth with her tongue.

* * *

They settled down in his tub to relax, she sat between his legs, all limbs intertwined. Ana rested against his shoulder and asked if he was going to go to Leila's house without her. He stiffened and paused.

"What?" She's full of curveballs. "That's a strange question. Are you… worried about my safety?"

"Always Christian. Are you? Going to go there?"

"No baby, I'm not." He kissed her head. "There won't be anything there." And thank god she asked. It was another opportunity to remind him of his asshole status. He didn't know where Leila lived. He never knew. She begged him to visit her place countless times.

"Oh." Ana hid her surprise.

"Besides…"

"Besides what?" she asked.

"Does it matter?"

"No, I guess it doesn't. Are you coming over this afternoon, to help me pack? You've been such an expert at delaying me so far…"

"For a minute, to make sure you're safe. I'm should make some calls first." Her face turned up and Ana nipped his chin. "I'll go get you a new phone? Is that what you want?"

"Hmm—I can't think of anyone who might try to call me in the next two weeks."

"Let me clean you up." He kissed her deeply, and the soap bubbles swayed to the cadence of their sighs.

A few minutes later, Ana drifted to sleep in his arms, both of then cleaned and sated, stretched diagonally across his bed. He was spent. Emotionally wrought and physically drained in a way he couldn't remember. If he were honest with himself, he'd admit he felt vulnerable. He succumbed to that feeling and wrapped Ana in his arms, where she lay—her mouth resting on his chest, above his heart. He was overwhelmed.

Because even though he was exhausted, he felt recharged and renewed. Being with Ana today had been… he got to a point where he knew he'd fallen and the consequences were he might die if things didn't work out with her, and that was all there was to it. He might never recover.

These feelings was a different level of existence to him, and new—only a few dozen hours old. Sailing after dark, he'd call it. He was committed and there was no turning back, but he could no longer see anything behind him, and he didn't know what his course would be or where the winds and waves would carry him. The calm sense that spread over him, that all he could feel were the soft winds of Ana, mouthing a devotion across his chest. He imagined she was whispering I love you. But his ears told him she said I'll miss you." He'd take it. He drifted to sleep soon after and dreamt of hands, and lips and a soft voice, and the prettiest blue eyes, his Ana.

* * *

Finally back in his apartment having deposited Ana at the airport—and having drawn the attention of every TSA agent and heterosexual within eyeshot for his inappropriate groping and marking of his brunette beauty—he sought a shower. Felix and Elliot were en route to help him plan for the first of several legal hurdles he'd face beginning in the morning, to help him deal with Ana's absence, and to finally start on the journey to sobriety, a journey that he'd put off for months, but his feisty sex kitten needed him well. She deserved it.

She had called herself his girlfriend. Could that be true after a day? After she'd rejected him so summarily on Friday? Friday—Sophie soaked in his hall, the champagne and christ, the entire wine bar she personally drank in her apartment. Christian paused to contemplate where his brain was taking him. The when… It seemed very relevant to Friday, relevant even to Leila. Ana's epic meltdown over what he know understood was her Virginia assignment may have inadvertently led to Leila's death. Because had Christian not been with Ana—

No, he simply couldn't let himself go there. He couldn't wish for one to be true without losing the other. What a strange sensation, to be in love with one woman, and mourning another.

He looked in the mirror, recalling Ana's fingers and tongue along every ridge of skin and scar. Something caught his eye, and he twisted his body to see. A bomb detonated. An explosion of rapture caught him by surprise, bursting through his chest and rippling waves of greedy passion up and down and everywhere inside him. His face was instantly numb at the sensation of being loved back. Sweet Jesus let this be real. He rubbed the tattoo.

In tiny ink blocks, stacked one on top of the other, along the sinewy length of his left flank, were the most petit letters her hands could write. She'd marked _him_ on her way out of town.

PROPERTY OF ANA


	19. Chp 19 To Say Goodbye is to Die a Little

_A/N Hi all you dedicated readers, Thank you so much for your patience. Chapter 19 is down below. I put a flashback on top here, from earlier in the day, during his sexy time with Ana. I couldn't find a good place to work it into the flow of chapter 18. I didn't want them to get out of bed yet, but I needed them to leave the bed for the visuals of Ana. Yes it's out of order. I hope you like it. In other exciting news. This chapter was too long, so I broke it up. It's already written. So chapter 20 will be a short short wait. On to this one. I love their goodbye, it made me tear up writing it :) :) :) If you want to chat all things FSOG and connect with amazing women, follow me over to Facebook: The Playroom of the FSOG Sisterhood._

 *** * * Flashback * * ***

just to earlier in the day lol

" _I have to confess something." Ana bit her wet lips to watch his response._

 _Her words slowed him down. They slowed him enough that he simply stopped thrusting and pulled her down against him. "Haven't we had enough confessing for one day, Ana?"_

" _I want to be one." Her mouth tickled his ear._

" _What? One what?" What is she talking about? He pulled her head back until their noses rested together._

" _One of the beautiful women you pick. The ones you want so much. One of the women you want to take care of."_

" _Ana," he held her tight. "You're nothing like that. Don't even think—"_

" _I'm worried Christian. I'm worried that if I go to Virginia, you'll find another beautiful girl to take care of. I saw… I knew Susannah at the hospital. She was smart and... really beautiful. And Leila…" her voice faded and he strained to hear her, "she could have been a super model."_

" _Ana, no…" he cut himself off. 'They looked like you,' probably wouldn't go over right now. "You're so beautiful."_

 _Her voice was timid. "I want to, I want you to give me a chance to come back to you. I don't want to go. But it's my job, I can't. I wish you would understand. Do you understand? Shit. There is so much I want to tell you. I wish…" He kissed her to calm her down, and pulsed his dick inside her._

" _Ana, what's gotten into you? Where's the spirited angel who told me to abandon my nihilism? The sex kitten who shook her ass in front of me, knowing I might spank her raw? Who made herself orgasm above me, with my cock buried in you?"_

 _She giggled and kissed him back. "Your mouth needs sanitized, it's so filthy."_

" _Don't deflect. What's come over you, baby? You're shivering."_

" _I just, God. I can't tell you."_

 _He cut her off, tired of listening, tired of thinking. Her words about his submissives made him uneasy, so he squeezed her ass and pulled out all the way to his tip and slammed into her, long deep strokes skin on skin, to remind her how good they were together. She moaned and held on, using his shoulders for leverage, over and over, fucking each other for pleasure. For love._

" _Feel what I feel." He was raw and exposed, as though his skin was a transparent organ revealing everything inside at once. Her sultry gaze on him was a laser through his heart. He couldn't take back his words. But he wanted to, as they rode a tidal wave of desire together._

" _Christian—" He was lost to her words, and he suddenly didn't like it. He'd lost all control._

" _Don't call me that…" She jarred to a stop, hands on his abdomen, holding him down._

" _You prefer sir?" she bit out._

 _He moved her off of him, and their damp skin pinched. Ana cried out and moved to get up as well. The bed sheet caught around Christian's leg and Ana grabbed for it to pull him back to her. As a harsh rebuke worked its way up his throat, he tried to pull off the sheet, but it only ended up flipping Ana on her side, and she twisted about, splayed on the bed, flopping like a mermaid._

 _"Stop with all this Christian shit." He didn't mean it, and he knew he was hurting her._

 _"What should I say?" she bit back._

" _I don't know. Why the fuck are you talking? We're trying to have sex."_

" _Are you serious?" She studied his face. "Sir? Is that it? You want me to call you sir?"_

 _He quit pulling and with a quick lunge, his weight was pressed over her again. "Ana…"_

 _"It's fine Chris... Dr Grey." She winced. She shuffled from underneath him, the clammy skin of their torsos still fighting her separation. She gracefully spiraled the sheet around her body and moved away._

 _She's going to leave me and my crazy thinking. Once she figures out there is no cure for this. Once I tell her all the steps I have to take to be this way. This fucking training camp, it's just the first step._

 _He followed her into his closet and didn't slow until he had her back pinned to the wall. He leaned into his forearms, trapping her._

" _Christian. About me saying Christian," she blushed and hugged herself before he could touch her. "I was saying your name because it just came out, okay? I was feeling… passion about you and I—I —I guess what my body was doing wasn't enough… so… I wanted to add my voice. And we've been talking for the past day. I wanted to, I don't know…"_

" _Ana—"_

" _Stop." She silenced him with her fingers on his lips. "You don't get to talk now. I wanted to … Have you ever had to justify anything you said in the throes of passion?"_

" _Throes of passion?" What bullshit language. "No, Ana. I've never silenced myself." He was puzzled. This topic skirted too close to visions of her seductive voice screaming out to other men in the 'throes of her passion.' He was confounded. Didn't he want her talking and screaming? Didn't he want his name on her lips? This was so confusing. He was fucking this up and he wasn't even thinking about it._

" _Well…" the fire was gone. She was shy again. "I'm sorry I called you sir."_

 _He couldn't hold back the curse that came out in a muttered undertone. "So am I."_

" _I would, you know." He tilted his head. "I would call you sir. If you needed that."_

" _Ana…"_ _what should I say? "What do you want to hear from me?" Does she want to submit? She doesn't know what she was saying._

* * * END OF FLASHBACK * * *

* * *

 **The Sandman: PART TWO**

 **Chapter 19—To Say Goodbye is to Die a Little.**

 _Sunday, August 6_

Earlier before Ana left, Christian and Sophie entered her apartment first without her. Whatever happened last night, whether Ana's fears of an intruder were real or not, she needed to stay back in his place until he was satisfied about her safety. Even though her place occupied the same floor, it was much smaller, only one story.

His apartment was two stories—in addition to the 29th floor space, he had an upstairs and an adjoining gym on the thirtieth floor private to their two apartments, that encompassed the footprint of the building. In essence, his guest quarters were above Ana's, the General's, home.

He glanced around, and even though he'd been there this past Friday night—when Sophie's champagne drenched body stirred him to rush her place—itching to kiss Ana in earnest, it felt like a lifetime ago. The blood from where he'd cut his foot was gone from the main hall. He looked to the living room sofa, where she'd splattered the wine, that was clean too. She was nothing if not efficient, cleaning her place, between her drunken swagger on Friday and her early morning appearance on Saturday as his alibi. He never got a clear answer from her about that, why she'd lied for him.

He checked the pantry and closets, reminded of his snooping at Susannah's the day before. There were no signs anyone had been in the apartment, even Ana. He searched her bedroom thoroughly, lingering over the family pictures on her dresser, before going to get her.

With Christian's all clear still echoing down the hall between them, Ana finally walked in her own place to begin packing. Sort of. She came in and attacked Christian's mouth, wrapping herself around him in the foyer and hitching her legs up around his waist while she squeezed into him, muttering her surprise at how safe she felt, how fantastic his mouth felt, and a dozen other affirmations.

Christian instinctively held her up, while he stumbled backwards through her apartment, bumping a picture frame, running into a stool, until they fell into an oversized chair in her main living space.

"I want you," she grunted against his lips in between dry humping.

When Christian made no attempt to do anything beyond relax, content to let Ana suck his tongue, Ana whimpered her pleas, then slipped two fingers into the waistband of his sweats. She slowed to gauge his temperature.

He kissed her, unsure of his reactions to her topping, and recovered, giving her his best puckered mouth and beaded eyes-an attempt at mock annoyance. _Fuck, yes._

She tugged his trunks to free his dick. While he bobbed semi-hard against his middle, Ana sank to her knees and kissed this tip. A faint pop when she released his head, was the only aural indication of the shift. Ana was a horny woman, and she wanted him for her pleasure.

Christian stared at her tempting mouth when she licked him from root to tip, tongue flat, up and down. Teasing him. Uncoiling his arousal. He shook his head and softened his eyes against her eager expression. He moved to hold her hair, images of pushing her down filling his vision.

Ana's rejection of his move vibrated around his shaft, as she dug her fingers into his thighs. She smiled and stood up. Without breaking eye contact, and without ceremony (which made the whole scene more erotic), she took her clothes off while he hooked his thumbs in her underwear and pulled, helping her step out of them.

She was perfect. Christian grabbed her hips, twisting them around, sitting her on his lap, her back to him, her round little bottom snug against him.

"Christian."

"Is that a no?" He rested his chin against her neck after a quick peck.

"I'm sore, go easy on me." Starting with his nose in her hair, he kissed across her shoulder and rubbed his hands over her back and hips, settling his fingertips above her tight triangle. With one hand, he ran two fingers up and down her slit, while he held her body firm against him with the other. She arched her back and her voice moaned and fluttered for more.

He fucked her hard, the two of them holding hands between her legs, squeezing their interlaced fingers. He fucked her hard for leaving him. He fucked her hard for his pleasure. And in the midst of the hand holding, the gripping and thrusting, he heard Ana's own sob, more like a like bark, a garbled _yesssss._

Perfect didn't scratch the surface…

 _Although—_

She'd just said she was sore. He wasn't an animal, and he had more self-control than to be manipulated into fucking her senseless because she'd wanted to suck him off. God, her mouth felt good—so good, it felt like he had a steel rod between his legs, pumping into Ana's tight box. She clenched and stiffened, the ripples from her pleasure running off and drumming through his chest as she screamed out her climax and fell limp against him.

After her orgasm subsided, Christian thrust into her three more times. Lifting her up to his tip and slamming her down. He exhaled, breathing in the same rhythm as she. He wrapped her whole body in his and hugged, letting his strong arms and legs send the words he wasn't ready to say out loud. She winced when she stood, grabbed her clothes and hurried into her bedroom. She didn't make a sound, she didn't look back.

Prior to her climax, she'd bounced on top of him, her body full and plump, a pulsing velvet sleeve custom-made for him. Below her, he could picture her tight little body sliding up and down him, and he'd been close. He sensed his slide into the empty ooze, where he wanted his release and nothing more. He wasn't fucking stupid.

He knew this fuck was something other than pleasure. He knew he wasn't going to see for for… who the fuck knows how long. And he wanted his release. A release from the horror show his life had become yet again in the blink of an eye. So he shut down. He wasn't going to empty himself inside her. It was a split second change.

He gave her a few minutes to collect herself. Riiiight… collect _herself_. Then he walked into her room. She had begun to stack a pile of jeans on her bed, and there were several tops strewn about. This is real. He should say something.

He watched her hands fold clothes as a tingle ran down through him, he felt her fingers between his own, between his thighs, on his shaft and balls, where she'd rubbed below their connection not five minutes ago. His stomach twisted.

"What's the matter?" he asked. Her face was focused on him as she kept folding. "Are you upset because I stopped?" She said nothing, her mouth in a straight line. She gave away nothing. "I decide when and where I come. I exercise control in all things."

"Is that what all this was, Christian? _You_ exercising control?" That didn't go over well.

"No, Ana. It wasn't. I…" _Don't feel bad, baby. Everyone always comes with me. You're the only one who's ever been on top._ She went back to her dresser to grab, fuck me more lacy things. He checked her out, and realized he could have her again if he wanted.

He spoke softly. "You know, I thought about tying you up. So you couldn't leave."

"I bet you did." She spit over her shoulder. She stopped her preparations, and put her hand on her right hip, the one he'd just marked with his thumb. She'd covered herself up in some floral athletic pants and a sleeveless top, but they could go. When she spoke again, he felt threatened. "I would have let you, but then I still would have left. Because it's my job."

"Don't say job again. I'll be in the kitchen." Mother fucking massage therapist.

Christian waited in the kitchen. He gave Sophie water, and checked his phones. After a few minutes, he wandered into the guest bedroom because something caught his eye earlier when he was checking for signs of an intruder.

Tucked against the room's interior wall, facing out toward the window and the damp Seattle skyline beyond, was a stalker's paradise. Christian lowered Sophie and encouraged her to get lost while he adjusted his eyes to the flickering blue screens in front of him. A low built-in unit ran the length of the wall, and he eased himself into the lone desk chair. He took in the main counter where five military-grade laptops hummed in digital harmony. They were open, recording Escala's security camera feeds in tricolor detail. There were three video monitors mounted above them, flanked by two towers of hard drives. A dozen by his quick count. Dozens of yellows cables converged into three routers on a shelf, and they blinked and buzzed a rhythm from above.

Four of the laptops had a healthy collection of dust on the keyboards, obscuring the Panasonic logo and for a moment, Christian sympathized with Ana, and the very raw and recent death of her decorated father. But the fifth laptop was clean. He smirked as he ran his fingers over the touch pad, imagining Ana's fingertips had been there earlier. Immediately, a sign-in screen presented itself. He took the warning as his cue to leave.

Ana was behind him when he stood up, explanation on her tongue. 'They were my dad's. Military intelligence, right?' she laughed to cover her embarrassment. She said he was obsessed with security. In her father's world, as she put it, the invasion of civilian privacy was 'standard operating procedure.'

Christian had already heard enough, and pushed on her shoulder to move around her, back to the open spaces in the main area. The feeds were obviously still operating, and his mind immediately began listing and cataloguing his comings and goings since the General had moved in and installed the new cameras. Every transgression Leila and Krystal. They were his only weekend visitors.

 _Krystal!_ Memorial Day weekend with the heartbreaking Krystal—his very young and very virginal charity case—her luscious lips and her DTs. God, that less than elegant walk through his fucking parking garage. Their awkward gait to the elevator probably looked more like a lover's spat that led to her abduction. He was fucked now, had she not seen it? It had all been recorded for posterity and anyone's judging conclusions. _Ana's conclusions._ At the time, it'd been a joke to him, _let the General think she is the woman I'm screwing_. I'm an idiot.

Ana followed him out, Sophie between them, as she continued talking, explaining how she was coming to see him early yesterday morning to get Sophie, when she noticed the cops in the hall. She popped back into her place to check the overnight feeds and saw that Christian had never left his apartment, and he'd had no visitors. 'I gave you myself. I told the cops we were together.' It sounded like she whispered, 'I'm glad something good came of these anyway.'

He did register the rest of what she'd said. Until then, Christian hadn't really been sure of what happened Friday night. He'd dosed on too much dilaudid and a part of him, the part he tried to bury in his submissives and his self-imposed isolation, thought he'd met Leila and ended her at Westlake Park, under the soldiers' statue in his own fucking honor. My god I'm a sick fuck, either way.

Since Ana's bags wouldn't fit in his R8, he quietly drove her to the airport in Escala's courtesy Q7. There wasn't much to say after the big security nest reveal. Besides, Christian's memory was on overdrive, conjuring up each sordid iteration and interaction he'd engaged in over the past few months, since Ana had arrived and gained access to the thorough visual record of his dark depraved needs.

Christ, when she insisted he wait in the car while she bought a new phone at the Verizon store, he was secretly relieved. "You owe me, Grey. But not today."

Against his better judgement, and the blaring sirens in his head, he called Patty Sheehan at Glazier Cosmetic Surgeons. Patty was hot, and she didn't mind being tied up. Until she got engaged last year, he'd fucked for almost two years. Every Sunday, mostly so she'd put his name first on the consult list for any new twilight patients. What kind of animal was he? Ana was too good for him.

Patty picked up on the first right, and they shared nothing. No pleasantries, or greetings. Because it had always been his way. All business, she shared the next dates and times when the social x-rays were scheduled for light surgery, little fillers and tucks. Dr. Christian Grey was their sandman, the city's anesthesiologist with the light touch. Those slimmer patients, who had all their age and fat sucked, melted or frozen off, they never missed the micrograms of anesthesia he syphoned off. He didn't want to dose now. Not immediately, but…

Ana slipped back in the car beside him, arousing him again with her intoxicating scent and her aura of good. He pulled his phone out to send her a… a kindness. She deserved that, at least, even if she was about to fly away. She was a gentle calm to his manic unease.

Before he could type anything, Ana squeezed his hand. "I got a new number," she told him. "I'll text you once I'm on my flight." And that was that. He should have broken her phone yesterday, and she might still be writhing underneath him.

When he pulled into the departures lanes, the gnawing panic had returned. With no anchor in sight, his beauty about to leave, with her hands, and her lips and her goddamn heart that he wanted all to himself, he felt a hollowness under his clothes, and he knew he suffocating. This was it, she was leaving.

Ana had told him before, during those five nights together, that she wasn't much into goodbyes. One night, the Wednesday, _he was sure it was the Wednesday,_ she'd argued to go back to her own bed to sleep, insisting she'd worn out her welcome, and he couldn't really enjoy sleeping on his sofa THAT much. She had no idea.

She twisted the first of his dead bolts as she reached the front door, where she stood facing away, calling her thank yous back over her shoulder. Each new gratitude was punctuated with 'Goodnight, Dr. Grey.'

He'd scrambled, desperately wanting to keep her at his place, but unsure of how much of an asshole he could be. When he reached her, he recalled a phrase: 'Anastasia, _there's nothing good about goodnight when it means goodbye._ ' He leaned against the door, blocking her departure. She turned into him. They smiled and stared at each other, noses almost touching, exchanging breathes.

She scrunched up her face in a sour expression. "Mmm, you got me doctor. I hate goodbyes too. _'To say goodbye is to die a little.'_ " She quoted Raymond Chandler. That made him smile. He tapped her nose and walked her back to his sofa.

Now, he remembered their little exchange as he stood against his car, watching her check her bags with the skycap. She turned around when she was finished, ready to fly, her hands empty of baggage. Her beautiful face blushed scarlet and her eyes sparkled with tears as she slinked back to him to make her leaving official.

With soft hands, she pulled his face against hers and pressed her lips to his mouth. He leaned into her body, shoulders to knees, and embraced her fully, cupping her curves in his spread hands, mapping her lines.

As he watched her eyes flutter close, Christian felt her chin quiver against him as he lifted her up. Then he was lost. She kissed him with purpose, and her soft lips felt different, like she was expressing sorrow and hope at once. God, she slayed him. She smiled against his teeth, hitching a breath to hold herself back. When she licked her lips, he felt it deep in his soul.

He kissed her the way he wanted to, the way she'd moved him. Like their kiss was a shared promise they took turns holding. Like she was life. Like she was the only living thing between him and a black void of meaningless space, spiraling further away down a narrow path of nothing. He felt himself die a little.

 _Little minx._ She shifted, and she was fast, nipping under his jaw where his chin met his neck. She bit down a little and sucked a lot, rubbing his stubbled flesh with her tongue. His knees buckled and he groaned.

She buried her face in his neck and inhaled so deeply, he felt like she took a part of him with her. He felt her tears against his skin. It was so intimate and so unexpected. Like everything she did.

"Hhmmm. Don't do any practicing while I'm gone doctor. You're good enough at kissing already." She giggled and his every nerve ending sung out, don't go, please baby, don't go. He squeezed and held her tighter, opening his eyes slowly. He responded to her wink and let her slide down him to stand.

"It's you, Ana. It's kissing you."

She'd already pulled away a little, and suspended three delicate fingers over her parted lips and rubbed. She walked backwards slowly, as if he'd disappear when she turned around. He saw a grin below her fingers, and watched her other hand slide into her pocket. When she pulled it out, she waved slowly holding up a pen. She tucked it behind her ear, and finally pivoted to go through the revolving door. When her body pushed on the steel plate, he turned to go. He heard her voice over his shoulder—"I love you doctor smooth"—but when he turned back she was gone.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading and even writing a review.

I love reading each one.

And I admit I sometimes read them several times.

But isn't that our way

xoxo Mrs. Caron


	20. Chp 20 Two Fucking Weeks

_**Enjoy xoxo**_

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 20 — Two Fucking Weeks**

 _Sunday, August 6_

Felix spit a mouthful of beer across the deck of The Grace. "You're shitting me. She's a fucking peeping tom?"

"No asshole, not Ana. Her father, her dead father. He was ex-CIA, military intelligence. Fuck if I know. When he moved in, he asked the board for expanded security over the public spaces."

"I remember. Sounded strange. I do respect a man who likes to watch."

Christian bit his lips and shook his head in disbelief for the nth time, " _General Steele_ ," he intoned dramatically.

"Anastasia's father is General Steele? That's his name? Sounds like a Boeing aircraft concern, not a person." Felix pulled the top of his vibrating phone out of his front pants' pocket, to check his messages and slid it back in. "Are we taking this little dog fishing too?" Sophie sat down at his feet. "That was Elliot. He's nearly here."

"General Steele was real." Christian hesitated—considering whether to share the next part with Felix or keep it to himself. "And all the video recording equipment and monitoring… it's still set up in Ana's apartment in a spare bedroom."

"You're joking?"

"No, I'm not joking… it's a fucking spy's nest. Complete with video screens and head sets, a stack of hard drives, and God knows what else." He clasped both hands behind his neck and craned his head around to stretch. "I don't know what the fuck to think."

Felix was still talking. "I think… I think you should thank the gods of tech. You're a fortunate man. I'll admit, besides myself, you are the last man on the planet who should have videos of his private life in the hands of military intelligence." He laughed and finished unloading the boat bags of their gear and bait. "There is a silver lining my friend."

Christian leaned back against his captain's chair, deck shoes off, arms and legs crossed in unison. "You're one to talk Felix. You're one to talk. Why don't you go find some triplets to tie up? Or a blonde switch with a foot fetish? You're going to tell me about my unusual habits? My fucking exposure?"

Felix straightened and looked out to the horizon. He rubbed his hand across his tight stomach, dark olive from tanning. "Since you've been so polite, thank you, I will reveal my thoughts to you…" He turned back to Christian grinning. "It's your alibi, Grey. Do you see?" Felix reached into the ice well, popped open another porter and took a drink, smacking his teeth. He tossed Sophie some ice. "You said the building's cameras had a… malfunction Friday night, correct?" Christian nodded. "But… Anastasia's private cameras were monitoring the public spaces?"

"I don't know… I still can't believe Ana kept—"

"She has recordings of the comings and goings outside your apartment that night? Friday, when Leila was killed? You can offer the police proof that you're innocent. This is good news. Do the police know about Anastasia's—"

" _Died_ , the night she died. Leila…" God, he couldn't believe he'd never see her again. "She hasn't been ruled a homicide yet."

"Toxicology will come back. It's a matter of days. I heard there was significant bruising." Christian shifted his body, and dropped his hands to his sides. "Christian, what is it? You look sick."

Anyone observing might conclude that Christian was about to drop to his knees in surrender or a plea for mercy. Felix Ramal wasn't anyone and he knew what his friend's changed stance meant. Christian had beat the shit out her, indulged Leila's kink—incredible pain, followed by incredible pleasure—and she'd wanted it.

Felix winced for his friend, because he knew sadism wasn't entirely Christian's kink. He knew Leila's needs sometimes crossed Christian's hard limits.

"C… I thought you hadn't seen Leila."

"Felix—"

"Don't Felix me. You were with Leila again?" Christian didn't budge. "Leila Williams? Leila 'by any chance can you bind me with barbed wire' Williams…That flexible deviant was subbing again? For you?" Their eyes met, and Christian arched his neck in defiance, to avoid shame.

Fuck Felix and his stupid labels. Christian didn't get off on the same kink as Leila, even though they had similar limits. For some reason, or affection, he gave her exactly what she wanted every time. And Leila gave him everything he fucking wanted. No, Ana did that. Ana gave.

When Christian didn't answer, Felix put it all together. "No fucking way. This Friday last? You and Leila?" Christian didn't answer. It'd been a week since he'd whipped Leila senseless. He saw her body yesterday, the bruises were faded.

He'd stupidly whipped Leila senseless because he couldn't have Ana, not the way he wanted her. And today, he had been with her. They'd had sex, hell more than just sex, and he'd survived. Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe now, with the curves of her body still engraved on his, when the aftershocks of her lips, her breathes still vibrating over his torso, with her ink tattoo bleeding into his skin, maybe now he was going to fall apart. Leila had saved him before, when he wanted to spiral down.

 _Two months ago, that night when he got back from Malibu after committing Krystal Devine to rehab, he was ready to dose up, itching to return home to a night of drugs and booze. Krystal was so broken and she'd never been touched, not really. How had she ended up in such a terrible state? Who did that to her? Felix had introduced them because it seemed he wanted to help her. Now, Ramal didn't give a shit what happened to her. Hell, the prick thought driving Ana home last night made them even._

 _Christian was disgusted with how he'd found Krystal so enticing. Her calendar age may have legally entitled him to imagine the scenes he'd conjured with her. But she was much too young for a man like him. Too inexperienced and immature._

 _The weekend he spent with her was difficult, not least because he had wanted to fuck her senseless. Was it a punishment he was imagining? Give her a taste of the kind of sex she was headed for?_

 _At the same time, he was trying to help her detox, to save her, which was a new feeling for him—putting her safety above his own desires. In the end, after the toughest forty-hours of her life, the bond he felt for her was brotherly and therapeutic. It was the beginning of the change within him that led him to let Ana in. But it was not a straight line from Krystal to Ana. Leila, the lovely masochist, had re-entered his life._

 _Krystal's presence in his bed, albeit in a semi-conscious state, really fucked with him. Leila with her perfect timing, arriving the moment Krystal left, and she was the the perfect, the only suitable outlet. Leila's outrageous limits, her love of the whip's bite, and the satisfying pleasure that followed, did he really have a choice to turn her away? By the time he came back from Malibu, his balls were heavy and read to fuck. Leila was there for him, and he used her as much as she used him._

"After Krystal… I… I don't know I was coming apart. When I got back from Mal…" He swallowed deliberately to buy himself a minute. Only Elliot knew Krystal was in rehab. Christian was hesitant to share her current location with Felix. But why? Concern for Krystal's safety? Her privacy? Or to protect Felix, keep him out of the loop?

"What is it?"

He straightened up, and owned his dominance. "One night, I came home and Leila was naked outside my place. I couldn't let her top, so… we… started fucking again." He shrugged and looked out to sea, sipping his own beer, unsure of his motives for concealing his trip to Malibu from Felix. "I felt something for her. I guess I…"

He pictured her from a long time ago, smiling at her reflection in a mirror, admiring a weekend's worth of welts and broken skin, like little impact craters across her silky flesh. She loved the red mottles and sores. Christian didn't. It was too harsh and severe. As soon as any scene ended, he was ready to cloak her body in the softest silk or wool, fill the tub with aloe and rub Leila back from broken. Leila had her own agenda. She came around him because he knew how to rough her up safely. That wasn't all of it though.

Being a great Dom wasn't just about carefully administering pain and pleasure. That was only part of the picture, wasn't it? He knew there was something else in it for him. A nagging truth in his mind, just beyond his reach. _Why do it?_ Why mar her delicate skin so brutally if it didn't turn him on?

Both men sat quietly, he guessed Felix was turning over this new information about his liaisons with Leila. Meanwhile, Christian was picturing Leila's toned body below him, how he reveled in her trust, found calm in the smell of her warmed skin, her pale pink complexion, how she always twisted her long neck around to hold off her orgasms because it pleased him so much, and her deterring grunts to maintain her silence.

Felix interrupted his thoughts. "What I think doesn't matter at this point. She's dead. But Christ what were you thinking? She was in love with you. That should have been a line you draw in the sand, man."

"Leila didn't love me. She loved kink. And I delivered. She loved having a man who would safely dominate the fuck out of her. We're hard to find."

"Dr. Grey, you're a fucking idiot. She crossed the lines with you. For years." He stepped back, and mocked checking Christian out, like he was diagnosing him. "You're a handsome fucker, for an asshole. She fell for you. I thought that's why you ended it before." Christian sucked his lips between his teeth to hold his shit in and keep from lashing out. He was done with this interrogation, conversation, therapy, whatever the fuck it was.

Felix let the worry of Leila's romantic intentions slide, and shifted gears, catching his good friend up on the dealings from the MSF meeting the day before. Elliot would be there soon and they'd set out on an excursion. Eventually the talk came around to Ana. Felix had driven her home last night as a favor to Christian.

"This Anastasia…" _my Ana._ "She's a masseuse?" Felix asked and Christian nodded. "You didn't react to my comment yesterday in the parking lot. Doesn't her job set off a warning to you? You once told me Nina was a masseuse, right? And that didn't end well. Now there is Anastasia and her magic fingers," Felix made some sort of jazz hands gesture, probably lewd.

"You're sick, you know that?" He pictured Ana's hands on his abdomen. "And probably right, she is a massage therapist. I don't know. She… moves me." He spit the words out like some spoiled milk. And that reminded him of her bent over his floor cleaning up milk, like some hot kitten.

"You've got goose pimples on your neck." He pointed at Christian. "That better be because you're cold. Not over some piece of ass. She moves you? You're not built that way, doctor."

"Maybe I'm changing." He shifted and recrossed his arms and legs.

"Are you serious? Christian, two of your submissives are dead and within a day, suddenly you're fornicating?

"Felix… back off." _It's been weeks, I've wanted her from the moment I met her. I don't understand it myself. I'll most likely destroy her before she can thaw my cold heart._

"You're not serious. A hospital employee?" Felix's eyes searched Christian for an explanation, anything. "A public coupling?"

"Fuck you. I'm not explaining myself." _Coupling?_ What was going on with Ana seemed the furthest thing from a coupling and fornicating.

"You were ready to pack Susannah up to Houston when you saw her name on the resident roster last fall. Just seeing her name, and you wanted her hours away." Christian shook his head. "Seriously C. Keep your kink in the playroom." Christian curdled at Felix's expression.

"This isn't like that. She's not a sub. She's my… fuck." Ana's voice and an image of her perfect body came to him. "She's my girlfriend. So go fuck yourself. You're jealous. It's shows asshole."

"Bullshit. You don't have girlfriends, Grey." Christian bit his cheek to hide the blush he felt creep in, and he bent down quickly to secure a knot that didn't need it. "Are you fucking out of your mind? You've been with her a day and she's your girlfriend? I mean she's a piece…"

"Then she's the woman I'm fucking," which sounded wrong.

"You care about her?"

"That's none of your business. So fuck off."

"I won't fuck off. You said you saw Leila Friday, probably gave her a bon voyage fuck." _Goodbye fuck, what did he mean by that?_ "Whatever you've got with Steele, it's a day old. I saw the way she checked you out—I talked to the lady at our lockers. She was staking a claim to you as she rifled through your locker. You forget, I drove her home. If she _knew_ about Leila, she would not be with you. It's not _EVEN_ been twenty-four hours."

So many thoughts went through Christina's head at once. Felix and his fucked up power plays. He had no business in hell talking to Ana in the doctor's lounge. None.

"Felix, I fucking… Fuck you Felix. You know nothing—"

He drank his beer. "Dr. Grey, tell me to fuck off one more time and I'll personally open an investigation to suspend your license." Christin whipped around to look at him. A death glare.

Felix had the same devilish grin that the morgue janitor wore last night. He apologized. "I didn't mean it, so shut up. I have your back. You think I'm impressed by your new brunette? She's a massage therapist. Like Nina! What will Anastasia will think when you mention it?"

"It's a coincidence."

"Coincidences keep mounting for you don't they? Are you going to tell Anastasia that her looks, her body. Her job! They are all coincidences? She's going to have reaction. I've met her. Remember? She may need some answers."

"Ramal… leave Ana the fuck alone." He took off down the stairs on the left rudder, to release the jet ski and retie it to the dock, trying to get anywhere, away from Felix's prying insinuations.

"You're playing with fire, Grey. I'm concerned. Are you attempting to sabotage you're progress?"

 _What progress?_ He thought to himself. _I fuck women without emotion. Ask Ana._

Felix approached him slowly down the steps. "I'll ask again. Do you care about her Christian?"

God, did he care about her?

"Yes, I care about her. I'm not explaining myself to you. You're an asshole when it comes to women." That'll get a rise out of him. "It's beyond…" he wiped his mouth while he searched for language to describe it. It was all clinical shit and he felt his throat constrict, thinking of his vagus nerve, and it's annoying little pulsing. "It's beyond fucking. We're connected. She's gone out of town for two weeks. She only left a couple hours ago and now I—

"Out of town? She only started working last month… To where?"

"Virginia. She's working for the National Football League."

"Come back upstairs, Elliot's due here and we should be ready. The Football Leagues? You're fucking kidding me, that's why we came sailing today? I thought the Seahawks are in Washington?"

"The Redskins of Virginia, you clueless fucker." Christian laughed.

"Genius names. Jason Taylor allowed it? That doesn't sound correct."

"Jason knew it was part of her contract with the hospital. She is at Seattle Grace on some special program, because her dad died."

"Right. So… who does she report to?"

"Fuck if I know."

"This makes no sense." Felix looked puzzled.

"The Washington Redskins," Christian reminded him. "They're a football team. She's done this before."

"Never heard of them. But I know what footballers are like. Did you see how petit your girlf— the woman you're fucking is?" Felix bit his lower lip to stop from laughing.

"Stop. You're not helping. You're supposed to help me Ramal," he pushed on Felix's shoulder. "Distract me today from the fucked up mess that is my life."

"Which thigh does she work out? Is she a lefty or a righty?"

"Fuck off." He was done. Ana's hands on his thighs were such a turn on. This conversation was over.

"Pussy."

"I told you to fuck off. I'm thinking of skipping the next MSF mission to Afghanistan." He trailed off, not even sure Felix could hear him. Not even sure he was ready for Felix to hear him. Sharing this new idea with Felix was difficult.

 **xXx**

"Hey!" Felix and Christian turned their heads around in the direction of the low voice. "Why aren't the rigs ready?" They looked back down the pier where they were docked to spy Elliot Grey making his way to them, his hands full of bait and beverages, dragging a wheeled picnic basket. That would be Elliot's wife's doing. Paige always sent Christian the leftovers from the catering company's Saturday bookings. Christian smiled at Elliot and his rolling stone gathers no moss vibe. He existed in what Christian had diagnosed was a 'Permanent State of Stoke.'

"What are we doing? Why are we here?" Elliot stepped on while the other men helped him with his gear, and Felix shoved a perfectly mellow Adnan's in his hand. "Thanks man." They exchanged familiar greetings.

"Christian's had a coronary listening to a sports show on his car radio." Felix released the dock ropes while Christian unplugged the power cable. "Apparently, listening to old men discuss how the Seahawks play American football finally got him pissed. He called me and I called you."

Christian adjusted the throttle and set the boat to idle. He didn't really feel like fishing with Ramal anymore. "Actually, I was home and wanted company. I didn't really want to stick around my place."

Felix didn't even notice the silenced motors, he spoke to Elliot. "You know that body they found on Friday? It's Leila Williams." _Leila Wachowski. Elliot knew._ He and Christian exchanged glances. Felix was going home, he just didn't know it yet.

Felix's story was only partially true. Thinking of all those men under Ana's hands, Christian had had a difficult time navigating his way from the airport where he dropped her off, to the hospital to observe Zachary's recovery—his condition was stable, and on to Escala.

He was worked up and confused by his potential allowances, as if by simply driving Ana to the airport he was giving her some kind of tacit approval to massage all those men. The truth was, he didn't want her out of his sight for even one second longer than necessary.

The car radio in the Q7 was set to some fucking AM sports talk shit, and you guessed it, they were talking about the NFL. He was fucking furious, gripping the steering wheel so hard it almost collapsed in his hands.

Adding to his fury, was the singular emptiness he felt earlier, as the revolving door circled back around and Ana wasn't there. She'd really disappeared into the airport, committed to her job of touching and healing strange men. _He'd imagined her declaration, hadn't he?_ Ana wouldn't say I love you and dash off.

Christian wasn't ready to have other people to his place either. Walking into Escala, he sensed and smelled Ana in every corner. He'd showered quickly after seeing the 'Property of Ana' tattoo, taking great care, like some lovesick teen, making sure he didn't disturb it. He was so fucking upset she'd left him, and even more worked up after their airport goodbye. He'd never experienced anything like it.

He needed company. But the idea of commiserating and strategizing over his potential murder charges at Escala? Are you fucking kidding? He had no interest. He'd persuaded the guys to meet at The Grace, and head out into Elliot Bay for twilight salmon fishing across the way. In early August, there were pods of Coho banked up in Apple Cove Point, just north of Vashon Island. Sophie was his Ana whisperer.

Nasty weather aside, Christian, in any tense moments, was pulled like a magnet toward the water. Especially the Sound and it's wide open spaces. The blue water and calm waves reminded him of Ana. She had invaded everything.

It was rare that Christian offered to sail with company. He felt guilty that he seldom found the bandwidth to invite his brother. Elliot, optimist that he was, never declined an invitation. Christian wasn't a moron. He knew what it meant. Elliot's constant acceptance… that meant more to Christian than he'd probably ever express.

 **xXx**

The irony was the three men co-owned the boat as an investment and sometimes floating escape plan. They could sail or motor around the Bay anytime. However, Christian was the captain. Period. Captain of the boat, of his own life, of any circumstance—except when it came to Anastasia Steele and her fucked up job, apparently.

The Grace was more than a weekend escape, it was part of their nest egg. When the younger men, Felix and Christian, finished their residencies a few years ago, they committed to remaining in Seattle to establish their medical careers alongside Elliot, who was three years their senior. The trio formed a business partnership, pooled their assets, meager as they were at the time, and named themselves Lamar Grey Investments. In the years since its inception, LGI made them a lot of money.

They were lucky and the whole venture was profitable so far, and they had begun to build a decent reserve. They made all investments by unanimous decisions. They speculated a little, but mostly invested in real estate developments, including a hotel or two, and some vacation spots.

They added biomedical investing a few months in. Their combined knowledge about pharmaceuticals and drug research led them to allocate a portion of their capital into those stocks and projects that fit their goals, but they tread lightly to avoid any appearance of impropriety or inside angles. It was a no brainer to support vaccine research and rapid delivery medicines. Besides it wasn't like they were personally profiting from patents or market entry of efficacious medicines.

Christian found the whole enterprise bewildering. Not six months before the partnership was filed, he'd considered ending his life. And then, boom. There they were drinking together in Elliot's loft talking about how to underwrite their retirement and extend their lives with financial security. How fortunate he was? That never crossed his mind. He'd chosen a slow death through self-medication and lots of senseless fucking.

His commitment to the partnership was really Christian's way of paying Elliot off. Easing the sting and guilt that Elliot may have felt over Afghanistan. Because while Christian was… _goddamn fucking war_ … in that Afghan hospital saving and ending lives, Elliot was chilling out, chasing a woman up north. He knew Elliot carried massive guilt that he hadn't been there to help Christian, or to deflect the responsibility, or _hell_ to help him die.

So he literally bought into Elliot's big idea to live frugally and invest their money instead. Christian smiled at his brother as he remembered those years of his residency, Elliot repeatedly dug through Christian's locker to find his salary checks—Christian couldn't be bothered to deposit them, so set was he on destroying himself.

Among their properties was Felix's waterfront condominium, right across the Marina in the Market Place Tower on First Street, overlooking spectacular Elliot Bay. Christian loved the Bay and would challenge people to name a better piece of water in the United States.

The condo started it all, the luxury apartment was their first purchase, and in the beginning, all three men lived there together. It was an incredible property with impeccable design, and stunning views of the skyline and the Puget Sound. It tripled in value in the five years since they'd taken on its mortgage.

Proving to be astute investors, the group leveraged its profits from the condominium and added the Escala penthouse to their portfolio. Christian moved in before the ink was dry, seeking the privacy and distance he didn't have when sharing a home with his brother and best friend. Felix and Elliot had remained in the Elliot Bay property, until Elliot married Paige Okafor. Felix lived there alone now.

LGI also owned The Grace, their 120' catamaran moored at the Marina. Felix could see the boat from his many balconies, and often entertained his paramours here, to avoid Elliot's glare the morning after and to keep his home separate from his hobbies. The guys spent as much time as they could, fishing, sailing, enjoying the wide open backyard the Sound offered. Occasionally they raced, but that was more Felix's thing, a former collegiate who'd spent time on the America's cup circuit. Christian usually kept his distance.

 **xXx**

"Elliot what are your thoughts of Anastasia?" Felix caught Elliot up on all things Ana as Christian studiously prepped the The Grace for launch. Elliot and Felix worked on the rigs and leads to catch salmon. "I think Christian is—"

"Why are you so interested in Christian's love life Felix?" Elliot's voice was menacing.

"Oxymoron. Christian's love life?"

"What's with the animosity?" Elliot asked. "I thought you'd…" Christian handed the poles to his brother.

"I'm right here assholes." Christian tongued his lip. _Christ, they have no idea what this is doing to me._

Felix rolled on. "She dropped in from nowhere to mourn her dead dad and flaunt her grief at Christian. She developed a case of insomnia when she lived across from a sleep specialist?"

"Felix stop. Dude. What you're implying is offensive." Elliot met Christian's gaze. "Ana is straight. Do you remember straight? I think you're so deep into that sex club that you can't imagine anyone digging themselves out. Or looking for a more conventional relationship. Least of all Christian. Maybe this is what he wants. Did you consider that? Why don't you try being a little bit less of a prick about it?"

"Dig myself out? It's not a cult." Felix stammered. "It's my choice. It's fucking! Lots of it. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know enough."

Felix exhaled, and moved over to set the rigs. He raised his chin up with swagger. "Here's what I know. Christian has a fuckload of issues and two subs are dead. Sorry, it's true." He held his hands up to ward off their protests. "Even if… Even if this new woman could—"

Christian seethed. Elliot held him back and yelled, "Dude, do you hear yourself? Two women he knew intimately are dead. Died. Fini. He's hurting. He met a woman normally. Not after signing some meaningless paperwork and a quick test fuck. He's sought comfort with an innocent. A new face in his life that does know all his baggage. Or if she knows, she doesn't give a fuck. Someone who can **be** with him. Who doesn't have an agenda—"

"Now she's a saint?" Felix was fired-up too.

"I'm not saying she's a saint…"

Felix looked at Christian and held his shoulder. Christian pivoted back to release it. "I don't trust her. She looks like them, appears from nowhere, and suddenly there are dead women. Within a day, you're tossing off your domination, holding hands in the hall? She was sitting on your lap. I am arguing for caution." He turned to Elliot. "Elliot, I am talking about what is safest for Christian. What he can do safely. How he can function."

"You assume a lot Felix. You assume a hell of a lot." Elliot stood beside his brother, who was seething, fighting every thought that entered his mind. If he didn't, Felix would fucking sink faster than the lures. "I think it's best if you sit this charter out, Ramal. We got it from here. Thanks for coming down. See you tomorrow."

"Kiss my ass Grey. I meant no criticism." He embraced Christian in an awkward one-sided hug. "I fucking care man. I know this is hard."

 **xXx**

After Felix left, the two brothers set off for Apple Cove Point, trawling two leads to hook coho salmon behind them. Elliot and Christian began talking in earnest. They ate the sandwiches Paige had prepared. They reeled in several coho and caught up with each other for the first time years. The hours passed quickly. Christian's young patient, Zachary was on his mind, his precarious legal situation notwithstanding. The events in the OR, after the OR. Yesterday with Ana, Susannah's apartment, and this morning. This morning had been a gift from the gods.

Over the wet late afternoon, into the cool summer night, Elliot listened, and offered Christian something he knew he'd never give himself. Compassion. And a series of beer belches that must have finally scared off any salmon within a nautical mile. Fishing was done. They tacked back to the dock well after dark with several salmon in their wells.

Christian was pleased with all their efforts, and calm, naturally sedate. In a rare act of generosity, he let Elliot drive the boat back to dock. Elliot grinned. Christian didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't trust Elliot to clean and prepare the salmon properly, so he scaled and filets their haul. He thought of Ana, cooking in his kitchen, while he fingered the fish's pink flesh in his hands.

The brothers discussed Susannah and Leila, and Christian's reaction to being a suspect. The cloudy weather, with The Grace anchored off Vashon Island, didn't interfere with calls to land. Christian managed to reach his new criminal defense lawyer, Marissa Logan, and after they'd agreed on a retainer, and a brief public image plan, he made arrangements to meet her at the police precinct in the morning to volunteer DNA samples, in an effort to clear his name.

He didn't mention Ana's video tapes to Marissa which, for all of Felix's doubting Thomas act, he'd made a good point. They were exculpatory—at least where Leila's death was concerned. He just didn't want to draw Ana into the murders any more than she was already involved. And she told the police they were together. How would that compare to the video evidence in her place? It was an odd sensation to put her good standing above his own, but that's what he wanted to do.

For the first time, he wondered what might be on the hospital library video feeds. What a fucking weird ride, to have to think like a detective to prove yourself an innocent man. Christian was hardly innocent, maybe that's why these strategies felt natural.

He missed Ana, and made no effort to keep it from of his brother, to mask his disappointment at her distance. They agreed at least, that there were valid arguments to be made that she was safer far from him, than near him. He'd think about that another day.

Finally, after docking The Grace, Christian engaged the deep red flood lights on the boat. The water around them was illuminated a murky black red. Elliot wandered away with two of the coho they'd snagged. A few minutes later, Elliot was back with a brown bag of Pad Thai and their own fresh caught salmon steamed in lemongrass, and the men got down to the business of Doctors Without Borders, the charity's annual gala coming up over Labor Day weekend, and what had come to be known, at their mother's insistence, as The Ceremony.

"Goddamn that fucking ceremony. Politicians. Why do people give a shit? I'm not a role model. Can't you talk to her? Or better yet, go in my place." Christian had put The Ceremony off for years. New pressures and politicians had other ideas, and the pressure had increased for him to participate in one final dog and pony show.

"What would Ana think, Christian?" Elliot asked. Christian shrugged and tossed their food boxes.

He also confided that he might not make the upcoming December trip to Afghanistan. His reasons were vague, because of course there was more to the story than he was willing to divulge. Mostly, it was the shame and real scars he still carried around from his last mission. Elliot could relate, although his shame was different. He'd been an absent brother when Christian needed him most. But the murders could complicate any trip out of the country, especially since the police didn't seem to have any leads.

Elliot was good, he was a patient listener and a practiced therapist. He helped his brother understand his value to so many, in a way Christian couldn't see for himself. As far as the gala, Christian allowed that he was willing to speak, as long as the murder investigation was closed by then. He committed to reconsider going to Afghanistan—although he probably wouldn't.

He was infatuated with Ana, and he knew he couldn't make any commitments that didn't leave him near the same spaces she occupied. He smiled at his affection.

Elliot conceded, maybe a lower profile for Christian within the charity was a good idea temporarily, which would spare him meeting the newly minted Senator and his band of interfering sycophants. But it all came back to the murders.

Elliot drew his attention as he cautioned, "These dead women. Two gorgeous dark haired girls are a big deal in Seattle. The press is going to want a suspect, so unless the detectives get a big break, I think we are going to have to deal with it. It may be hard to keep your name out of the papers." Christian nodded, thinking of Felix's assumptions about the police and Ana.

"We have the two weeks for Leila's toxicology." Christian said. "Since her death hasn't been ruled a homicide, the press can't connect her with Susannah, right? That buys us some time." Christian groaned and ran his hands through his scalp. "Jesus Elliot, this is so morbid to talk about. Strategizing about my image by finding advantages in the fact that Leila may have killed herself."

"Chris, you can't look it that way. Tragic unpredictable events happen. You're not responsible. Your immediate future is working, and making this MSF mission a success. You're a local legend. MSF needs you. You raise a lot of money. You're charismatic and charming." Christian glared with resistance. "No listen, we need your charity work, your crusade for these refugees and the dying children. Your speech on how climate change has wrecked the—"

"Enough Elliot!" He intoned. "They don't know." He tossed a beer bottle across the bow. "None of them fucking know. You don't know either. So…"

Elliot moved across the galley and hugged his brother. A long deep hug of humility and patience. "I love you Christian. I love you for the man you are. Never forget that. You're good enough. Everything about you is good enough."

Christian pulled back and clasped his brother's arms, fighting off a wave emotion and tears. "I want to believe you. I do. I do, El." He clasped the back of his neck in his hands. "But those women are dead because of me. I know it. And I was already pretty broken." He had to grit out the last part because the acute sadness of the past day and a half were taking over.

Elliot just stared him down with his dusky blue eyes and his puppy dog face. _Was that his plan? To outlast me and my breakdown?_ Elliot was always rehearsed, not reckless. Everything he did was planned. His Alfred E. Newmann demeanor was carefully crafted to put everyone at ease, a way in. He was into life, low-key and reliable. An amazing hero in Christian's eyes. How had he kept him away for so long?

"Chris, that other thing we talked about last Wednesday? I went ahead and made a call while I was at Curry Simple waiting on our food. Let's do it." It was in small, powerful moments like this, where Elliot's commitment to his brother had no limits, when Christian was surprised he'd ever described his brother as a motormouth. If anything, his laid-back vibe was staggering—lending itself to moments of profound insight and concern. "I love you Christian. That will never change." Christian felt the twist in his heart again, small roots were growing, wrapping around his insides, opening new leads.

"Sure. Okay, text me the number. I'll make the call." He rose back up to begin the process of final docking. His posture betrayed his exhaustion. Sophie stirred at the renewed activity. "I'm ready for my own fucking sandman right now though." His Ana, is what he meant, he'd have to settle for her dog. He checked his analog. Ana must have landed, but she hadn't sent him her new number. He missed her everywhere, inside and out. "Let's get home."

"Christian, my brother. I am all for that plan. Let's call it a night. I'm having breakfast early with Senator Wyatt tomorrow." He thumbed is waistband, and hiked his pants. "I'd like to give Paige my best tonight, and not smell like a goddamn fish monger."

* * *

 **xXx**

Late Sunday night, Christian closed the lid on his piano. He turned his phone over in his hand for the hundredth time—it was on, the ringer was engaged—and willed Ana to call or text. He eyeballed his anesthesiology phone, it was live too. Fuck it. The time was after one in the morning in Virginia, she wasn't calling.

He walked his cold travertine floors turning out the few lights that illuminated his lonely home and confirmed Sophie was snug on his bedroom sofa. Christian turned the corner into his closet and tossed his shirt on the floor. He jerked off his pants and went into the bathroom where he started filling the jacuzzi. He gazed in resigned loneliness at himself in the mirror in his bathroom.

Two weeks. Two fucking weeks.

Would she even come back? She's not from here. She could always hire someone to pack up her dad's belongings and ship them off to… He didn't even know where she was from. She was lying to him. He was sure of it, but he itched with a suffocating need to connect with her, to reach out. How the fuck could he let her leave without a number? He didn't know what to do with these feelings. Maybe he'd let Elliot drive The Grace back to port so he wouldn't ram the fucking boat into the dock.

He'd felt transparent around her for two days. That she could see through him, see his heart seizing with affection and life. Being with Ana was nothing he'd ever imagined. It was an intimate harmony that broke walls within each moment and breath.

He was mesmerized when she touched herself—for completely new reasons. Not because he'd dominated her. Not because she followed his directions, although that was enough to make him refocus his efforts and hold off his release. What he found in those moments with her, where she owned her pleasure, was a connection to another living person without power or agenda. It was only a moment, but it was everything. Ana said it, "Yes to everything." That was real.

Her gig in Virginia, it didn't make complete sense to him. And the ex calling her over a rental property when she's still recovering from her dad's death? He didn't know what to make of these dark thoughts in the back of his mind. When they spoke again, if they spoke again, he thought he might be willing to punish her over her phone, and he would be justified because of her distaste for the truth. But the more he thought about it, he realized that wasn't true. If he did punish her, it would hurt her. He knew she cared very deeply for him. The love was mutual. She admitted she was broken for two days knowing she would leave him. He looked in the mirror again at her name on his body, then slipped into the bath.

 **xXx**

Three dilaudid lined the counter, forming a small audience as he brushed his teeth. He touched Ana's faded letters with each of his fingers, her brand on his skin, imagining her biting her bottom lip while she drew on him as he slept. Then he pictured that wicked pen behind her ear as she backed away from him and toward her real life. He wrapped himself in the pima cotton robe she'd worn after their bath together earlier.

His phone lit up and beeped at him. A text from a new number. It was Ana. His fingers went numb and he almost deleted the damn message before he had a chance to read it. Fucking Christ.

— _Did you get my note ;) —_

He grinned. Yes, he was _Property of Ana._ Another message popped up.

— _What are you up to Dr Grey? Are you missing me? —_

— _Ana —_

Fuck! He pushed send before he'd finished his message.

— _Christian —_

She texted right back. It felt like she was there.

— _I miss you baby. Elliot and I went salmon fishing —_

He stared as the three grey dots pulsed.

— _Wow! I had fish for dinner too. Wanna see? ;-P —_

She added the smirking emoji.

He started to reply when a picture blooped in. Fuuuuck! Ana's naked stomach appeared on his screen, decorated with three pieces of sushi. She'd put wasabi in her navel. While his dick tingled and his throat fought to contain the ruptures in his chest, his mind was a laser. _Who the fuck took that picture?_

— _I'm calling now. You better pick up—_

Christian pressed send as his phone rang. She was calling him.

"Ana," he spit out but she interrupted.

"Christian—" he could hear her smile down the line. Her voice was a melody, a feminine curve of letters and sound.

He started to answer, when he heard the door bell. It was beyond late. "Who the fuck…" Sophie barked her excitement at his fleet feet, no fucking way… It couldn't be Ana.

"Baby, the doorbell just rang." His breathing had shallowed. He hastened to the front of the house. "Where are you, Ana? Are you safe? In bed?" God, he wanted her with him.

"Christian, who's there? You're not alone?" Her alarm hit him as he pulled the front door open to see a tall handsome fucker wearing a backpack and a red hoodie.

Christian rolled his eyes. "One second, baby." He held the phone to his chest so Ana couldn't hear. He tilted his head at the stranger.

"Good evening Dr. Grey. I'm Luke Sawyer. May I come in?" Christian gave a curt nod, and moved to the side, shushing Sophie at the same time his right hand encouraged the man to walk on in. He closed the door softly.

Once inside, the kind-eyed stranger gave the international sign for I'm going to look around. The whole transaction took less than thirty seconds. Christian put the phone back to his ear.

"Sorry, I… It was nothing." Christian followed behind the man as he walked toward the kitchen. "I was asking you if you were in bed, angel."

"Yes, I am. It's after two o'clock in the morning here, but I'm wide away. I wonder why." His whole body smiled. This woman. He nodded at the curious visitor to go upstairs and look around.

Next, Christian adopted his Dom voice, but the humor still staggered out. "Ana, are you wide awake because you have company taking pictures of your naked body?"

"Oh my god, you're ridiculous. I'm going to give you a little leeway because you were not expecting me to send this. I took the picture, okay? Me. Aren't you impressed? I mean, I didn't make the sushi, I bought it. And I was starting to eat, and I thought... well, I'll let your imagination ponder what I might be thinking. I'll say this. It included you and me, you hot hot gorgeous man." He pictured her rosy lips close to her phone.

"I barely had a chance to look at you when the phone rang."

"Speaker, put me on speaker and look at the picture."

"Yes Ana." He did. "You're so sweet. And very naughty baby. I can't believe you did this."

"Okay, it's my turn to be paranoid. Who is the man you just let into your apartment?"

 ** _Thank you for all your reviews and comments._**


	21. Chp 21 The War Within

_**A/N: Hi everyone, thank you for clicking once again. Who's ready for more Ana and Christian togetherness? No way can they stay apart for two weeks LOL :)**_

 ** _Forgive me, for this chapter I need to add a quick little note…_**

 _ **This story is a romance and suspense. However, for plot development, a couple passages in this chapter deal with addiction recovery and it's therapies (nothing heavy at all). Face it, all of us are touched by addiction one way or another. So, I apologize up top to anyone who works in recovery or deals with it. I pretty much made all this stuff up, basically revealing my harmless ignorance. It's fiction.**_

— _ **To anyone in recovery, good for you. It takes massive courage and you have my virtual support. xx Mrs Caron—**_

 ** _Shout out to my fabu crew on fb. Luke's backstory came from a fun crowd-sourced group chat. Gotta love my squad_** _ **—**_ ** _who shall remain nameless to protect the sassy, I mean innocent xxxooo_**

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 21 — The War Within**

 _Sunday, August 6 late night_

His phone lit up and beeped at him. A text from a new number. It was Ana. His fingers went numb and he almost deleted the damn message before he had a chance to read it. Fucking Christ.

.

— _Did you get my note ;) —_

He grinned. He was _Property of Ana._ Another message popped up.

.

— _What are you up to Dr Grey? Are you missing me? —_

 _._

— _Ana —_

Fuck! He pushed send before he'd finished his message.

.

— _Christian —_

She texted right back. It felt like she was there.

.

— _I miss you baby. Elliot and I went salmon fishing —_

He stared as the three grey dots pulsed.

.

— _Wow! I had fish for dinner too. Wanna see? ;-P —_

She added the smirking emoji.

He started to reply when a picture blooped in. Fuuuuck! Ana's naked stomach appeared on his screen, decorated with three pieces of sushi. She'd put wasabi in her navel. While his dick tingled and his throat fought to contain the ruptures in his chest, his mind was a laser. _Who the fuck took that picture?_

— _I'm calling now. You better pick up —_

Christian pressed send as his phone rang. She was calling him.

"Ana," he spit out but she interrupted.

"Christian—" he could hear her smile down the line. Her voice was a melody, a feminine curve of letters and sound.

He started to answer, when he heard the door bell. It was beyond late. "Who the fuck…" Sophie barked her excitement at his fleet feet, no fucking way… It couldn't be Ana.

"Baby, the doorbell just rang." His breathing had shallowed. He hastened to the front of the house. "Where are you, Ana? Are you safe? In bed?" God, he wanted her with him.

"Christian, who's there? You're not alone?" Her alarm hit him as he pulled the front door open to see a tall handsome fucker built for battle, wearing a backpack and a red hoodie.

Fucking Elliot and his therapies. Christian rolled his eyes. "One second, baby." He held the phone to his chest so Ana couldn't hear. He tilted his head at the stranger.

"Good evening Dr. Grey. I'm Luke Sawyer. May I come in?" Christian gave a curt nod, and moved to the side, shushing Sophie at the same time his right hand encouraged the man to walk on in. He closed the door softly.

Once inside, the kind-eyed stranger gave the international sign for I'm going to look around. The whole transaction took less than thirty seconds. Christian put the phone back to his ear.

"Sorry, I… It was nothing." Christian followed behind the man as he walked toward the kitchen. "I was asking you if you were in bed."

"Yes, I am. It's after two o'clock, but I'm wide away. I wonder why." His whole body smiled. This woman. He nodded at the curious visitor to go upstairs and look around.

Next, Christian adopted his Dom voice, but the humor still staggered out. "Ana, are you wide awake because you have company taking pictures of your naked body?"

"Oh my god, you're ridiculous. I'm going to give you a little leeway because you were not expecting me to send this. I took the picture, okay? Me. Aren't you impressed? I mean, I didn't make the sushi, I bought it. And I was starting to eat, and I thought... well, I'll let your imagination go wild with what I was thinking. I'll say this. It included you and me, you hot hot gorgeous man."

"I barely had a chance to look at you when the phone rang."

"Speaker, put me on speaker and look at the picture."

"Yes Ana." He did. "You're so sweet. And very naughty baby. I can't believe you did this."

"Okay, it's my turn to be paranoid. Who is the man that you just let into your apartment?"

 **xXx**

His eyes connected with the ceiling. She didn't miss anything.

"Ana…" His mind raced. He had nothing to share. He needed time. _Fucking Elliot!_ "You heard that? His name is Luke Sawyer." I will not tell her anything else. I'm not corrupting her anymore. She's had enough corrupting for one day.

"Don't you have to talk to him?"

"I haven't talked to him yet because I'm talking to you."

"What's his name again?"

"Luke Sawyer."

"Luke Skywalker?"

"No, sweetheart," he said through a laugh, "Sawyer." When she didn't reply, he pictured her rolling her lip under her incisors. It was such a calming image. "Ana, are you writing down his name?"

"Yes."

"You're going to google him?"

"Of course I am, doctor. There's another man in your life as soon as I leave? It's highly suspicious." She giggled through the last word. There was a brief silence. "I miss you Christian." His chest slow-rumbled at her confession.

"I miss you more."

"Really? I don't know about that. Out of sight out of mind, you know what they say." His mind was in heaven.

"You gave me plenty of sights today."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what, baby?"

"Make anything sound so… seductive." She sighed. "Mmm, I'm sorta happy you can't see me blushing."

" _A-na…_ " He stopped himself. There was so much in those two syllables. And talking on the phone was fraught with misunderstanding. Sound and silence took on new meaning. He couldn't skype with her. He wouldn't be able to keep things PG, and no way was he risking any technology when it came to her. "Baby, two weeks is impossible."

She didn't answer. He thought he heard her mouth close and open, but he could have been imagining her little noises. "Christian…" she murmured and let the silence linger again between them. He headed for the balcony doors, he needed fresh air and privacy. Wherever the conversation was headed, he didn't want any distractions.

"Ana, what is it?"

"Nothing." She felt very far away. "I…"

"I'm listening." After a beat, she started talking.

Christian stared into the Seattle night while he listened to her discuss her trip and her struggles with setting up her new phone, checking into her studio. Her dinner. His face broke into silent contentment. _Nude fucking sushi._ Ana's voice was sweet yet gravelly, and she apologized for it—"airplane air makes me lose my voice," she said. _It's not the stale oxygen, baby._

He pictured Ana underneath him, only hours earlier, connected. Their first time. She was perfect. Her body bobbing in a rhythmic drag against the sheets as he pumped in and out, fusing himself to her hot core. Her flush face, her arched neck, fighting and absorbing all that passed between them. Ana fucked with intention, with every part of herself. He listened to her continue to talk to him. He took in every word, but his mind was full of new convictions.

A spigot was on, rushing ideas to cold lonely corners, headlong to his heart. He felt the rush of some lighter feeling. A vibrating sigh left his mouth. New possibilities. His breathing slowed and he leaned into the calm urgency of his connection to this surprising woman. I'm going to keep her. Fuck if I'm not going to figure my shit out.

While her voice grew softer, the quiet din of the city below revealed the late hour. A fluttered whistle of sound floated behind him, and he glanced back annoyed at the intrusion, only to see a falcon perched on the edge of the concrete planter, adjusting its wings. The large bird was young, immature.

Christian laughed at the moment. The falcon was a sign. He stopped moving to observe, and the young bird twisted his head, turning it sideways, to observe Christian right back. They stared at each other, as Ana's voice sang on through his phone. Did falcons have souls…

 _***Eight years ago in Kunduz, as that blind August sun shone over the bomb-ravaged hospital grounds, Christian had hovered outside the scene hunched over, coughing out the last few hours' smoke and death. HIs mind hovered between shock and horror. 'My god what have I done?'_

 _He watched on, as the smoldering vision of devastation in front of him morphed. A broken battlefield full of fire and wind. Death and luck. Shrapnel and skin. Thick yellow grey clouds of smoke slowly wisped up toward the sky, shuffling up and down. It was a heavy rolling smog that lingered, as if even the smoke wanted to soak in the terror, or hide the remaining panic in a murky shroud._

 _Christian had stayed put, sputtering out the hours of accumulated smoke from his lungs as he readjusted his mask. He finally pulled the damn thing over his head and threw it. It'd been useless anyway. His throat was burned beyond sound. He was bleeding badly, he could feel it, taste it, but he couldn't bring his eyes to travel down his torso, to evaluate his own wounds. He couldn't think about what had happened. What he'd done. Instead, he focused on the endless thin smoke billowing sideways over the crushed steel car frames, the healers and casualties, and the bird._

 _A young falcon from the Afghan desert had settled on a heap of twisted car metal. From head to talon, it's pale blond feathers were covered in ash and soot, camouflaged in the debris of war. For weeks after, Christian tried to piece together how he'd even spotted the bird among the massive destruction. It was shaking, scared._

 _Christian rested his hands on his knees, and felt a connection to his own body again for the first time in hours. He pushed himself to standing, all the while he and the falcon remained connected. Eyes holding each other. As Christian ran a sticky hand through his own ash-covered hair, the falcon stuttered his wings, and released the grey film that had caked on his feathers. Christian's lips parted to speak, to shoo him away, but the bird tucked his wings under and looked him off, as if to say, "I'm staying. I'm here for a reason."_

 _Slowly, the human sounds of grief and sorrow began to filter back to Christian, and more sounds of reality rattled through his bones. The stench was sickening. His eyes darted around to find Nina, who was talking to a pair of men with radios, dressed in blue flack jackets—she was already concocting_ _ **The Lie**_ _. When he glanced back to the heap, his falcon was gone.***_

Tonight, on the phone with Ana, he turned again when he heard the door slide open. Luke Sawyer walked toward him, minus his backpack, looking ragged, reflecting the late hour. Christian was tired too. Ana must be exhausted. And he knew what was coming, he glanced at Luke Sawyer again, what had to happen before he could go to bed.

"Ana, I…" _I love you Ana._ "Mr. Sawyer walked in. I need to find out what this is all about. What time does your day start tomorrow?"

"God, way too early. What time are you going to the police station?" He ignored that.

"Call me when you wake up."

" _Yesss."_ They stayed on the phone, just listening to each other, Christian's eyes on the falcon again. "Christian…"

His fingers rubbed over the warm flesh of his scars. At some point, he'd moved his hand under his shirt, and retraced the caresses Ana had made hours before. The rawness he usually felt was gone. In it's place was… skin. His own skin. Ana had given him that.

"I won't say it sweetheart." She hated goodbyes. Finally, the falcon released his gaze and took flight. Christian knew what to say. "You'll be my sunrise."

 **xXx**

"Let's get this over with." He and Luke Sawyer stood eye to eye atop Escala amid the dark humidity of an August night. Sawyer's smile broke the tension. Fuck, his teeth were immaculate. Did the man eat? "I'm Christian Grey." He approached the stranger.

"I'm Luke Sawyer. Dr. Grey sent me over." The men shook hands and nodded. "You can call me Sawyer."

Christian directed Sawyer to a kitchen stool while he passed the island and turned to face his guest, leaning back on his arms, against the Cornue.

"What's the process, Sawyer? I only have a passing familiarity with sober companions. I know you're here to keep me clean, and we're basically tied at the hip. I trust Elliot implicitly, but…" There really wasn't a but. "I'm surprised you showed up tonight." And almost forced my hand with Ana.

Luke Sawyer's smile said I hear what you're asking. He licked his lips and took a final glance at his phone before straightening himself in his seat. He raised his eyebrows in comfort and turned straight at Christian. Sawyer had blue eyes as well, but they were tired, hidden below a sad brow, an aged face full of movie star good looks.

He took a full breath and exhaled before speaking. "Yes. I'm a sober companion. First I'm supposed to congratulate you on your decision and tell you the first step to recovery is to admit you're an addict." Christian winced at the word. Of course, this discussion made him uncomfortable, but when would it not? Honestly, what future did he have with Ana if he didn't admit what he was? There were three peach pills waiting for him on his vanity anyway. It's not like he didn't have an escape clause. His mouth got wet thinking about swallowing them.

Sawyer had more to say. "You've embraced change, and…" he tapped two fingers on his chin. "Typically, you would've just exited a substance abuse program, and I'm the next step in your recovery. My primary role is support. To be the architecture around you in your early days of coming cleaning, of your sobriety. I try to build trust, and help you normalize the basic elements of living a substance-free life." He acknowledged Christian's nod.

"In many ways, I'm like your own 'round the clock personal trainer. I help you with the heavy lifting. Sort of. I can't lift the weights for you, but I can give you the support to lift them yourself, and help you avoid the cheesecake." He grinned. "Basically, I'll be with you twenty-four seven. There's a lot to discuss, but honestly, you're a doctor. I know you get it. I'm not going to get into it. It's late. Maybe tomorrow if you want the run down, the highlights. I'll give it to you."

"You go where I go?"

"You got it, doc. I go where you go."

Christian covered his teeth with his lips and nodded. Could he really do this? Right now? He loved being a doctor. He loved his charity work. The irony is that both of those roles, had led to his self-destructive coping. He had to change. Fuck recursion and all that it meant. He was going to break the goddamn cycle. He fucking saved Zachary's life, and then tried to destroy his own inside a darkened bathroom.

If Elliot thought Luke Sawyer held some answers, then so be it. It was late, but Christian was curious, where did this man come from? "Fine, we can learn as we go. And thank you. Why are you here now, though? Tonight, Elliot told me he made a phone call, and—"

"Dr. Grey called me Wednesday." Wednesday? That was fast. "He and I go way back. We… know people. We have mutual friends through a rehab center in Malibu." _He meant Choices. He must know Elliot from Choices—where Krystal was rehabbing._

"I can't get into it. What you need to know is that we talked this past Wednesday. He told me your ex-girlfriend had… passed away." The son of a bitch had the courage to hold Christian's gaze, he'd give him credit. "I'm sorry." Christian nodded silently while his face said don't go there, Susannah is off-limits.

"She was—" Christian had to clear his throat. "She was murdered. I'm the main suspect."

Luke let a small smile form, then dissolve. "I heard. Nasty stuff. You want a water?" Christian frowned a no. "Elliot, Dr. Grey, he didn't give me a play by play or anything. I get that you're not that close with him. The gist was that you laid some pretty surprising shit on him after you found out she was dead, and that you…

"Look doctor, I'm gonna say worse things to you, as we get into this. But Elliot said you're, pretty messed up. That you needed me." He leaned back to observe Christian, goddamn it. He was uncomfortable. "The sooner I got here, the better. I flew up from LA on Thursday, and I've been waiting for… the case. For you, I guess. Elliot called again tonight, knowing you were going to be alone. So here I am."

"Yes." Christian acquiesced. This was all a big surprise, but maybe it wasn't. He recalled part of his conversation in Elliot's office from last Wednesday evening. He knew exactly what Elliot had said to him. And he hadn't needed a medical license to say it. Was is a conversation? Or a confession? Christian laughed for a second about how freaked out Elliot got, his eyes bulging as he was begging Christian to change.

—" _Christian, according to you, after the best five nights in your adult life, you dumped a smart, witty gorgeous single woman back in her apartment. Then whipped and fucked Leila for two straight days to punish Anastasia?" Yes, even Christian thought it sounded ludicrous now._

" _It was only one night. I couldn't…"_

 _Elliot stood from his leather sofa to pace and he sneered at his brother. "I don't want the details. Fuck that. Right now?" Elliot dug in. "Go…Get… Her! Tell her how you feel. If this girl's got your heart beating Christian, who the fuck cares what your head is telling you?_

" _Go somewhere you're uncomfortable. Is it that much worse than where you are now? So what if she rejects you? Come back and tell me all about it. Because right now brother, I don't think you're living. Not really."_

 _Christian wanted to speak. He couldn't find words to argue._

" _Christian, you don't see what's going on. You think you're in my office because Dr. Roberts was murdered, and you have some sort of existential guilt about it? That's bullshit. You're not responsible._

" _Yes, it's tragic that you intimately knew a woman who was murdered. The police will arrest the killer and that will be the end of it. You will get on with your life." Elliot sounded pretty cavalier about murder. Was this how psychiatrists practiced now?_

" _If I thought for a second there were some diagnosable psychology, some diagnosable… processes going on around Susannah's death, I'd take a different approach. I fucking swear to god I'd see you through the best therapies I could put together. I'm not reading that here._

" _You know what I've seen for close to a decade? I see a guy in his thirties who—we don't even need to get into the details—I see a guy who's not living. Who's getting by, who has anesthetized himself to life. How long are you going to do that? What's your prognosis for yourself?_

" _Elliot, I don't think you understand—"_

 _Elliot motioned him off. "I understand. Tell me. How long are you going to keep self-medicating? Until you're caught? Lose your license? Until you OD? Don't look so shocked. I know. I've known for months. What's your long term self-care strategy? More subs? More isloation and numbing? They don't make Ben-Gay for your whole body, do they doctor?"_

" _Fuck off. What you're saying is crazy. I'm not…" that person.—_

He was though, he was that person. Luke Sawyer was proof he was that person. And thank fuck for Elliot Grey. Had Christian agreed to hiring a sober companion? Did it matter? He is sitting in _my_ kitchen offering _me_ water.

"Sawyer tell me something about you. How did you become a sober companion? Are you in recovery too?"

"Yes, I am recovering. I'm an actor. Film, television. Since I was a kid. Brian Luke, that's my screen name." He flashed a classic grin. All teeth, white as fucking snow. "I've been lucky. I had gigs pretty much from the time I started auditioning. A good steady run of parts, stage too. Then I had an accident on the set of _Deep Code_ and I injured my back." Christian exhaled at the inference. He knew what was coming. It was his turn to observe. Luke Sawyer was a cool customer. He'd heard of that show, a gritty police drama. Seeing him today in his home, Christian was impressed. This man may have been in recovery, but he was confident and sincere.

"I don't need to tell you this, but back injuries fuck with you, right?" Luke leaned into the counter, as if sharing special news. "When you're in excruciating pain, you doctor types don't bother telling their patients about the down side to popping Percocets like Tums. Next thing you know, you're stuffing your mother-in-law's Oxycontin in your pockets after Easter dinner at her house, you're fucking a middle-aged pharmacist at Walgreens and lifting pills from the prescriptions bags." He blinked off some thought. "We have plenty of time to get into all of it, as we build trust in each other."

Christian shifted against the stove. "There's a… there's a woman." He swallowed audibly. Not a woman, The Woman. "Ana." He pursed his lips, shame clouding his thoughts, his voice.

"I don't know what my brother said to you." His crossed arms, and his stiff posture said I don't want to know what he told you. "Ana—she means something to me. I don't want her to know what's going on. What we're… what I'm doing."

Sawyer smiled in understanding, but he delivered his next lines with serious intent. "I'm going to counsel you to be honest with your loved ones."

Is that what she is? My loved one? Rein these fucking feelings in. Get to your room. Get to the echo, the numb slide down to a light coma and sleep.

"Christian, you're building a new world you're going to live in. A world where secrets and lies have no place." Christian nodded while Sawyer when on speaking. "That said, I am here for you. The early days are the hardest. I am your safe harbor here. I've got a couple ideas for the next few days."

He and Christian talked for another thirty minutes, planning the next few days, getting Luke set up in a guest room. Sawyer was smart and had good ideas. His experience was evident. Christian was pleased, if not mostly recalcitrant. He was dejected about his choices and these inevitable developments. He was resigned to Ana's departure, resigned to his self-destructive habits, Leila's death, his life apart. An hour with a addict actor in a hoodie wasn't going to change anything.

As Sawyer was wrapping up, Christian's phone hummed a new text alert from Ana.

.

— _Kiss Sophie for me —_

 _._

— _And dream of me —_

 _._

— _Something naughty —_

 _._

— _With fruit —_

 _._

— _And cream —_

Her messages came in a cadence of affection.

.

— _Ana —_

He'd try her game.

.

— No fruit. You taste sweet enough _;) —_

 _._

— _OMG did you just wink at me… in a text?! —_

 _._

— _I did, now sleep baby x C —_

 _._

— _Who is Luke? Google's not talking. I need the detes doctor —_

 _._

She's so adorably stubborn. He smiled, picturing her fingers flying over across the glass. Christian typed out a reply, thinking of what he and Luke had discussed.

His fingers hovered over the screen. He stared at what he'd typed, knowing it was a bold face lie. Could he send it? He recalled Ana's vulnerability this morning, when he'd withheld the truth about his scars. He'd asked her if she could live with not knowing. She'd floored him with her answer: _'I feel like, the way we are together, I don't have a choice but to accept what you'll give me.'_

Now, because he was weak, full of pride and humiliated by his demons, he was giving her a lie. Once he pressed send, the lie would be permanent, forever stored in her fucking phone. The lie was another slick cloak over his shame and surrender. Buried deep beneath the lie was hope and a promise. An unspoken promise to confess everything. More of Ana's earlier acceptances reached from his memory. Maybe he could offer her the same that she'd offered him: ' _I might build up enough good will that you might forgive me for what I'm about to tell you.'_

 _._

— _He's with Seattle PD. I'll explain more in the morning —_

.

— _Go to sleep angel —_

 **xXx**

He walked into his bathroom, ready for bed, ready for the loneliness, ready to pop a Dilaudid. He'd only take one. He wasn't anticipating horrible nightmares, not with the after effects of Hurricane Ana still flooding his every breath. Sophie was beside him and he could get by on one.

But the pills were gone, his hands scraped across the counter, feeling for them. Ana had texted earlier—he'd lost track of them. He moved back to his bedroom—there were some doses in his bedside table. He slowed when he saw the figure standing in the door.

Sawyer, casual in gym trunks and tank, his exposed muscular frame was evidence he took care of himself. His backpack was on the floor between his feet.

"They're gone, Dr. Grey." Christian met Luke's eyes and followed them down to the backpack. "At least on the first floor." Sawyer bent over and pulled an orange prescription bottle from his pack. "These are from Elliot. Librium." He shook the pills. The sound they made was desperate, Christian recoiled at the noise as Luke pressed the bottle into his hand. "I can offer you these. An alert ear to listen. Or some water. But that's it."

Christian say nothing, turning the prescription over in his hands. _Fuck this. Fucking fuck this._

"Dr. Grey, Christian, who were you texting with earlier? Ana? Were you texting with Ana?" Luke asked.

"Yes," he said. "She's in Virginia for two weeks. She lives… here." She lives here. It was true.

"Fine. I'm Ana. Explain to me how I made you grin like a kid over a fucking text message, and now you're going to pop a narcotic."

"Sawyer I'm not—" Luke bit in.

"Do it. I'm Ana. Explain it to me. It was only five minutes ago. This is real Christian."

Christian leaned against the doorjamb. His tongue was planted firmly against the inside of his cheek. Eventually he forced out a false smile, a half laugh, as he shook the medication. _Fuck my life._ "I'm not talking to you like I'd talk to her."

"Your choice." Sawyer rubbed his forehead, and shook off a feigned frustration. Christian didn't mind the drama, he got it. Sawyer was working him. It was his job. "I'll tell you what she would say. She'd say, _'I want you sober.'_ "

The silence lingered between them for a while.

"We good now?"

Christian nodded.

"Good night doctor. See you in the morning."

"Thank you Sawyer."

 **xXx**

The talk with Luke was over, Ana was sleeping in bed a million miles away, Christian had locked the front door, turned down the lights, and headed back into his kitchen. One final piece of business, and then he could lie down and relive the best fucking day of his life. He frowned, and smiled. It was the best day of fucking, but that sounded vulgar. Ana would like the syntax joke. It was the best day of his fucked up life.

He pulled a small tray of meat from his fridge and grabbed a boning knife. The Henckels. The one Ana had dangerously licked pie from, with that tantalizing sweet tongue of hers, a couple weeks ago. He separated the wings and thighs from a raw chicken carcass and arranged them as spokes on top of a small turquoise plate, brushing off the dry marinade Ana had rubbed on earlier that morning. Ana. _Ana Ana Ana_

He walked from his kitchen across the apartment, back out to the deck. He smiled at his intention, and the completeness of it all. Moisture pooled in his eyes. Emotion washed through him.

He chuckled as he spun the plate, lining up the dish's sun dial design with the center of the table where he set it down. The meat was for his falcon. And his falcon was going to eat from a handmade dish. The dish was a gift, from Saeeda Etebari, a pottery artist from Afghanistan. A woman whose life he saved.


	22. Chp 22 While You Were Sleeping

_**A/N: Surprise! There is a song for this chapter. Dance, dance, dance by Lykke Li.**_

 ** _I haven't had a chance to do my normal proofing, I have a lot of writing going on. Apologies :)_**

 ** _This is the first half of their time apart chapter. Because I crave these two together, I wanted to contain Christian's experience without Ana to one chapter, but it kept growing, so I cut it in half._**

 _ **He's taking steps to see her Friday. That will begin a set of three or four chapters full of surprises, revelations and lots of romance.**_

 _ **Thank you so much, Mrs Caron**_

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 22 — While You Were Sleeping**

 _Monday, August 7 early morning_

When Christian got back to his bedroom, his phone was on the floor in front of his bedside table, buzzing and shaking.

"Ana—"

"Hi, sorry to call again so late, but," Her voice… he pictured her lips and tongue. Jesus, she stirred him up. "Christian, what do you mean Luke Sawyer is with the Seattle Police Department?"

 _Fuck._ He should have ignored her questions. Why did he fucking text her? Because she matters, asshole. Now lie some more.

"I am…" What should he say? She was too curious for her own good. "Ana it's all right, everything's fine. We will talk in the morning. I'm exhausted. You must be tired—"

"Noooo, we can't talk about it in the morning. What's going on?"

"Ana—"

"Please, Christian? Please don't 'Ana' me." He heard her pout as she sat down. "I'm worried. What happened that… that the police department shows up at your house after 11 o'clock at night? Has something changed? What's going on? Are you OK?"

God, she was vulnerable and demanding at once. He imagined her pale blue eyes probing his while she sucked on her lip. He was chastened and aroused. _Sweet Jesus—she's across the goddamn continent and she owns me._

"Ana…"

He looked to the heavens for an answer to satisfy her, and to thank God that she existed. Her insistent questions were a mind-bending balance to her vulnerability, her need to understand what was happening to him. She was invested. He choked on that concept.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I've barely talked to him. Apparently," every word was a lie, was a dive deeper into violating the trust between them she'd insisted on. "Maybe…" fuck it, "what you said to the cops Saturday morning worked. That I need protection. I'm going down to the precinct in the morning with Sawyer. I'll have more answers."

Or lies. _You're a fucking asshole for doing this to her._ He hated it. "I love that you're worried about me. It feels good."

She made a small noise, "Well, it sucks from where I am."

This woman. "I know. Then blame your job. I wish—" That you were here. That no one had died. That I didn't swallow pills and dose up to dull the pain of my past, to fight the ghosts and nightmares that visit me every moment I'm not working, or fucking, or—.

Every move he made hurt this lovely woman. "I wish you were here, Ana, so it wouldn't have to suck from where you are."

"Then please talk to me, Christian. I don't want to have to figure all this out and read between the lines of what you say in a text. It feels like… it feels like something has changed since I left, since I saw you at the airport…" _Since you said you love me?_ But she hadn't said it. He'd imagined it. _Fuck this, she left me._

"What's your point Ana? It's obvious we both want you here with me. And yet. You're not here. We are both dealing with this." His words came out more as a threat than he'd intended. A thin static in the line, a grainy chasm of empty technology—their only connection—expanded heavily as a quiet stretch punctuated the distance between them. "Ana…"

"I'm sorry I called again, okay? I'm worried about you. I just, I just…"

"Ana, I feel the same. I'm safe. You're safe. God baby, I wish I were there to make sure you're safe." Did he say that? That he made her safe?

"Christian, may I ask for a favor?"

"Anything, goddess." He spoil her with words.

Ana giggled, and through a yawn she croaked, "You remembered my demands."

"I think I'd categorize them more as begging pleas." He smirked and his voice smoldered with need.

"Whatever Dr. Smooth. I still miss you, even more now that I know you're being watched by Seattle's finest."

"Why is that?" How could having Sawyer around make her miss me more?

"Because… I'm jealous, I admit. Maybe it's jet lag, or maybe it's you. I want to be the one who watches out for you."

"I thought you wanted to be the beautiful woman I take care of…"

"You're right, I do. So it's probably just the jet lag thing." She teased.

"Hold on, I like that it's just me that makes you jealous. That you care about me."

"I more than care, Christian." He could hear her smile again, there was a different weight to her breaths, and he closed his eyes, to imagine her sweet puffs of air washing over his face.

"What was your favor, Ana?"

"Oh, so I know you must have an entire drawer somewhere in all those pieces of mid-century furniture that's full of nothing but phones." He confirmed she was right. "I wondered if you could keep this one, the one you're using turned on? On my pillow there, where I slept last night? Until I fall asleep? Please?" His hand reached down to adjust himself, his dick happy with where Ana was taking this conversation.

"I'm already lying down." He heard her sweet little moan as covers shifted in the background.

"Both hands on top of the covers, doctor?" she purred.

"When I'm thinking of you, baby… Not likely."

* * *

Christian woke a few hours later, with his hands crossed over his chest, gripping two phones. Both began buzzing within seconds of each other. As he'd instructed, Ana called him early. He'd set his hospital phone to wake him as well. As he answered her call, he calculated four hours of Ambien free sleep, not bad. No nightmares again, either. Third night in a row.

He and Ana exchanged tender words of longing and affection, as he grumbled out of bed. They brushed their teeth together, ridiculous—he knew. And met in their respective closets to FaceTime. Hackers be damned, he couldn't resist seeing her. Her heart shaped face, her plump mouth, her long thin neck. She was so easy to look at.

He wanted to ask if she'd showered before she called—and insist on a thorough procedural exam—but he didn't, deciding he preferred the not knowing, imagining that the arousal he'd coaxed from her overnight, right before she passed out in sleep, was still lingering between her legs.

Like lovesick coeds, they dressed each other over the long distance. He objected to her temporary wardrobe—basically dozens of clingy cotton or spandex options that all created a too sexy for work Redskins PT uniform. She wasn't their goddamn mascot.

Ana, in her best phone sex rasp of a voice, convinced Christian to wear his shirt with the sleeves rolled up, so she could picture his wrists and 'lickable forearms' all day. She watched him shave, while he watched her apply make-up… ' _Not too much baby. You're perfect without it.'_

He asked her how her work would unfold today, what would it be like. What friends she had, who did she know? When she wasn't working, who would she spend time with?

And he… just listened. Listened for the first time in his life, to a woman he cared about, the only woman he cared about, as she prepared herself for her day, her job, her life. Far, far away from him.

And he tried to steer the conversation far far away from her actual job, the actual purpose for which she was there, and Christian considered that a win—to not talk about having his massage therapist girlfriend's hands all over other men.

By any measure, to have your hot, built-to-fuck girlfriend, with a smart mouth to match, surrounded by rich virile athletes in various states of adrenaline pump and pain, hell it would test the will of any man. But for Christian, newly cultivated boyfriend to Anastasia Steele, goddess from Escala, the stakes were unreal. He had to navigate this conversation in a way he'd never imagined, just so he could hang up, and not freak the fuck out, calling her all day long. All this, while he went the second day in a row without a decent morning cup of coffee.

While he talked with Ana at this early hour, he walked to the kitchen, where Sawyer was reading his tablet and sipping a motherfucking espresso. There was a second cup beside him. I'll be damned, Christian thought to himself. Even Sawyer can work the Miele.

He was so stunned by the damn coffee, he missed the 'you're-fucking-kidding-me moment' of Ana's last little reveal at the end of their conversation. The one where she said all the staff massage therapists had their own assigned massage therapists. The one where she said she was routinely massaged every few hours for 'efficacy,' so she could have enough stamina for all the bodies she had to work over each day.

And before he knew what had been communicated, they'd hung up. Two weeks, he'd never last. He had an espresso cup in his hand, he was fully dressed, momentarily sated from his call with his girl, ready to head to the precinct and on to the hospital. Then, he checked his watch… it was barely 5am. _Fucking ridiculous._

Sawyer smirked, obviously wise to Christian's situation. "First time you've been apart?"

"Yeah, something like that." He lifted his cup, trying to fight the haze in his mind.

"Don't drink that yet, Christian. Go back to bed. I'll wake you up in a couple hours." Luke moved around until he was standing in front of Christian. "Unless you want to talk."

Christian dismissed him and headed back to bed.

….

On that flat August Monday, three days since Christian saw Leila for the last time, six days since Susannah's murder, Christian Grey was inside the Hyatt Downtown. While Sawyer hovered in the shadowed recesses of the early morning, Christian met with Marissa Logan, the criminal defense attorney his father recommended. They sat in the hotel's darkened bar at 6:45, sipping cappuccino.

It was a thorough and very candid conversation, how Marissa knew his father, what expertise she brought, her relationships to the DA's office—all substantial and reassuring—and mostly how his appearance at the police precinct as a suspect in a double murder investigation would play out. How he would voluntarily submit his DNA evidence (a pin prink to his finger, and a cotton swab along his inner cheek).

Marissa was a tall, curvy middle-aged woman, dressed in an angular lavender suit that highlighted her wavy red hair. Her makeup and demeanor left little room for judgement. She had an easy confidence, and was controlled in every way. When she wasn't speaking, commanding attention with her tight diction—a practiced delivery to hide a lingering Boston accent—she held her lips in a strained frown, trying to appear unaffected by Christian's good looks. Her neck and chin gave her away.

Christian never understood why so many women missed the signals their own bodies gave out. Normally, he'd enjoy her discomfort, but she was so articulate, so competent in every aspect of their exchanges, that he actually felt sorry for her, and held his hand over his mouth, to hide at least some of his features from her greedy eyes. Not to mention, he only wanted Ana to rake her eyes over him. No one else.

Christian rode in Marissa's Prius to the station, Sawyer followed in the R8. The cheesy grin Luke flashed as he came around to sink into the driver's seat of the Audi was a refreshing tonic to Christian's grim reality. The whole process took ninety soul-crushing minutes.

He emerged physically unscathed at 8:50 ready to transform into Dr. Christian Grey, infallible anesthesiologist, and winsome poster boy for Doctors Without Borders. Marissa remarked that the DA had held up his end of the bargain to keep the entire event—Christian's voluntary submissions, his request for a criminal court order of protection, his sworn statements—away from the press. This bought Christian a few more days of anonymity and gave the prosecutors time to find the killer. He and Marissa made plans to meet later in the week for a formal meeting with her staff to develop a narrative, a strategy to support his defense, should one be needed.

He ignored Ana's text.

— _I'm here for you. Dying to know everything. Is Sawyer from the DAs office?—_

 _._

A fleeting epiphany ran through his mind, and he let it go. Ana, I reject you. Susannah and Leila die, and suddenly you think I can just be with you? Maybe you killed them to clear a path to me. He sounded like Felix. He needed sleep and to be free of this waking nightmare.

On the brief drive over to the hospital, Christian was withdrawn. Never did he imagine being fingerprinted for anything other than an MSF mission. While Christian semi-wallowed, Sawyer laid out his sober companion responsibilities and duties while they were at Seattle Grace.

Christian declined, thank you, to attend a Narcotics Anonymous meeting and Sawyer didn't object. "Yet," he'd said. "I'm not going to give you trouble, yet."

Oddly, this quiet ride was the first chance he'd had to consider the past two days in Analand. He was reflective... though meditative was more accurate. Because there were elements of the weekend with Ana where his mind and his body were in different universes, on opposite courses. A dream within a dream.

He'd spent the better part of a month thinking about fucking her. Hours and hours thinking about it. How it would happen. His master plan. Details about her body, her skin, her pleasure. And the event was so much more than the fantasy. So satisfying—which was too small a word, compared to the vital reality that washed through his body and split him in two when he came inside her for the first time.

How her mouth quivered as she fought her climax, which only made her skin tighter and rosier, the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. That was the physical fucking, that tore at his skin and stretched his control, but there was also the mind fuck of being with Ana. Her realness, her honesty. Her playful ways, her haunting blue eyes that penetrated every part of him, her own urgent need to express herself. It was so much more than satisfying.

Having sex, they were two churning erotic wakes that rippled out, intersecting, meeting together in pulsive rhythms. Their bodies and their shared emotions were waves criss-crossing in a gravity-bound surf. And the undertow, how Ana dragged him down, Christian drifted between floating and drowning. Hanging on to consciousness while her sounds and scents, her sexy moans and greedy skin washed a lifetime of isolation away.

Yesterday, when she sat on his lap like Scheherazade, half-naked, and begged him to be her prince, to forgive her, to accept her. That was more obscene than any wicked flick to her clit, or filthy image he could whisper to get her off.

What did all of it mean? Fuck if he knew. Logic told him he hadn't earned all these familiarities that he was musing on. She was his muse… for so fucking much. It fortified him, and scared the shit out of him too.

If he hadn't earned the intimacy with her yet, he had work to do. Her sudden trip to Virginia served a couple purposes. She was safe, and that was good news. And he could sober up, talk to Elliot.

He straightened his body out of it's post-suspect slump and used a finger to trace the rain lines running down the car window. He needed something physical to touch, because thinking about Ana now, he felt seasick with affection.

The butterflies that Ana carried with her arrival into his life had fluttered in between the muscles and tendons in his body. If he let his logic fall away, he'd swear he was suffocating from a fucking memory. These _feelings_ pulled apart his structured life and left him speechless and bereft. It had only been hours. He needed her.

Could he be what she needed?

What _did_ Ana need? She was so self-possessed. Sure, he could love her but could he offer her what she needed as a woman? She needed the whole story. The truth.

 _The truth._ Maybe part of him had died in Afghanistan, the part that could meet her panty-clad demands uttered on his lap, that could reciprocate and expose his ugliest self to her. He wasn't sure he could ever be her knight. He could destroy her though, his life before her... he could wreck her.

He cursed under his breath, that they were forced to exist in a world full of memory and history. Of moments and tokens. Where past and present held power over your wants and desires? If she knew everything, she would leave. Hell, if more women died, he'd fucking send her away.

 _ **So he had to love her now, with an immediacy that defied their world.** _ He smiled on that thought. He could recognize love and understand his affection for her but could he give her love?

She was smart, he knew that, but her insistent nature, to dig into his secrets, like a puppy looking for a buried bone, made him uncomfortable. Another Anaism. Another invasion to add to the list of problems Ana presents. She'd stolen his privacy, his control over time, his mastery at distancing others, his heart. She was amazing.

Sawyer stared at him as he pressed the engine off in the parking lot. "Have you heard anything I've said?"

"Not really." Christian laughed at his fucked up brooding and shook his head. "You want me to be honest, Sawyer?" He thought about his locker full of drugs, all his private corners down empty corridors.

"Sorry Luke. I'm trusting you to do your job. I'm counting on it. And I'm going to do mine." The men exchanged respectful looks. "You don't have to trust me. Although I will give you my complete candor." He shook his head, observing the medical bustle around them, focused on nothing in particular. "I don't need to hear what you're saying, Sawyer. I'm…"

His mind flitted to invented images in Virginia. Her small hands, her delicate fingers on swollen corpulent flesh, warm and sweaty from exertion. Lies and manipulations falling from the lips of dozens of muscular men trying to get any extra bit of Ana they could.

"Sorry Sawyer." He rubbed both hands over his face, before bracing them on the back of his neck. "I'm going to be okay," he nodded, "thank you for being here."

* * *

He didn't have a significant conversation with Ana Monday night, she'd warned him her work was going to be crazy—approaching 18 hours a day the first week. Instead, after squash with Taylor and a long conversation with his mother about MSF and his slow awareness that The Ceremony was becoming unavoidable, he returned to Escala and dined alone.

Under Sophie's watchful guard, he pan-fried some Jerusalem artichokes and whisked together a lemongrass reduction over low heat. At the end, he tossed the dish with stale pink champagne, the bubbles long flat from neglect in the back of his fridge, leftover from their evenings two weeks before.

Christian sent Ana a selfie—as he chewed on his dinner—per her cute saucy demands. He ate outside, reasoning that he was closer to her if they were under the same sky. Sawyer was… around.

On a whim, he'd asked Ana to set an alarm on her phone, to think of him at 9 o'clock each night, and do some… action, something that reminded her only of him.

— _Easy —_ she'd replied.

— _Everything reminds me of you lately xo —_

He waited for more, as the three grey dots pulsed against his phone's screen. But there was nothing from her the rest of the night. It was just as well. He had four early surgeries to kick off his Tuesday, followed by new Resident orientation.

The beginning of a plan to see the divine Miss Steele sooner was percolating around his head, just beyond his grasp. She'd only vaguely mentioned friends and a passing familiarity with some of the other team therapists. She was essentially alone. He had to see her. For her safety of course.

When 9 o'clock rolled around, he pictured his dick stuffed down her throat, then he closed his eyes and remembered holding her tight against him, at the airport.

There were more memories. More Ana. He felt adrift. Without her physical presence, he was coming unmoored. He turned his brain off slowly, to focus on a safer set of memories, Ana's effect on his senses. The sound of her removing her nightgown in the dark night, the rustle of her tongue against his stubble. Her penetrating gaze as she made herself come while she rode him. How her eyebrows tickled his nose when her kissed her lashes. The freckles that covered her body.

He pulled up the torso photo she'd sent him on Sunday, her sushi dinner, and thought about the words they'd said to each other over the weekend. He pinched the glass screen to zoom in, to see if he'd left any bite marks on her flawless middle.

And he saw it. On her right flank, a hair's breadth below the base of the costal arch of her ribs. There was an ovoid scar, half the size of one of her sushi rolls. He immediately knew what it was. _What happened to you, baby?_

A jagged maw opened up in his gut, and chewed up across his neck, creeping into his jaw. His vision went white hot. Wrath could now sit alongside jealousy as a new emotion Ana was stirring. The fucking irony was, would he even ask her about the scar? He was keeping the source of his own scars a secret. Did that make him a coward? Or a protector?

* * *

 ** _Tuesday, August 8_**

"My my, This is unusual." Christian's head swung around in surprise. Andrea Parker, Christian's senior nurse—his right hand really—followed behind him into his small office. He'd requisitioned the space, near the duty nurse's station on the step down unit, to keep his private business private while he was at work.

"Hi Andrea. I'm fine, thank you for asking. How are you?" He didn't make eye contact, instead sitting down, minding that his tie didn't dunk itself in his coffee. His laptop screen was already on.

"Cut the crap. You're never in your office, we could use this room to manage our OCD patients, it's so immaculate. What are you doing in here?"

"If you must know, I have some phone calls to make. I won't be long. Your OCD group can carry on as if I'm not even here. And… as far as I know, it's none of your business what I'm doing anyway. Does this phone work?" Andrea shrugged and shook her head slowly, hovering in the doorway. "Don't you have some charts to prep, Nurse Parker?"

"You're funny. When did you decide to become funny?"

"Do you like it?" Christian grinned, it's the Ana effect.

Andrea crossed her arms, and leaned against the open door, picking some imaginary lint off her shirt. "No, doctor. I don't like fun Christian. It's kinda freaking me out. You're the before picture. Your brother, the other Dr. Grey is the after picture. The good looking one."

Good looking? Who's she kidding. He flashed an insincere grin. "Before what?"

"A heart transplant," she deadpanned.

He blanched at how true that was, and his skin bristled. "Hey, I didn't mean it." Christian wheeled his chair back to face her directly as she approached him. "It's actually… good… to see you un-grumpy on a Tuesday."

His face turned into a flat smile, his lips pressed together. There was so much to say, if she'd known his morning. "Get out of here, Andrea, before I give you some real work." She moved away.

"Andrea," he called before she reached the door, "What's Taylor's secretary's name?"

She turned her head to the side, "I don't know, maybe Prescott? Her parents are WASPs. Her first name is a last name I think." She turned to go.

"Oh—before I forget. Dr. Ramal was down here, gracing us with his presence while you were up with Zachary. He was looking for you, hovering around your computer. He got an earful from the new Senator, Wyatt Winfield. They want to settle on the schedule of drugs you're taking to Afghanistan in December. They need three months lead time and… Felix can explain it to you." Fucking pharmaceutical company bullshit.

"One more thing Andrea, do we have a Sports Medicine group here?"

"Sports medicine? Why on earth are you asking about sports medicine? Did Taylor kick your ass in squash again?"

"Fuck no." Christian never lost. "I wondered if the hospital has a relationship with the Seattle Seahawks. The NFL."

"You're full of surprises. I don't know. You're right though. Taylor's office will know."

"Thanks."

Andrea walked out, but immediately came back. "I'm sorry. I have to ask. Is it a girl? Did you finally meet someone?"

"Now. Andrea, good bye."

"Sorry, one more… I'm really sorry. Who's the beefcake over there, he's got all my nurses swooning?"

"He's a friend of mine. And none of your business. Now go." He shooed her away for two reasons, if he was being honest with himself.

First, it was ridiculous and highly inappropriate for him to seek information about Ana's job with the NFL. Was he suddenly taking a page from Felix's book and stalking his own girlfriend? What a circuitous route to keep an eye on her. What was he really going to ask Taylor? 'Did any doctors at Seattle Grace have contacts in the Seattle Seahawks medical organization that might have contacts in the Redskins organization?'

He shook his head, amused with himself. Ana was simply eating him alive from the inside out. He was bordering on infatuation. That was an understatement.

And secondly… his phone buzzed, a new text from Ana.

— _Did you taste your flat white yet, doctor? —_

She attached a closeup of her chest covered in a too tight top. Ana's chestnut hair cascaded around her neck, the word Redskins emblazoned across her breasts, an ample amount of cleavage peeking out from below the shirt's deep neck.

— _Ana do not send pictures of yourself to my work phone —_

I'm likely to poison patients.

— _Why not :( —_

— _Too much room for error… I use several phones and I would hate for an image of you …_

He didn't get to send it.

— _How's a video? —_

Four seconds… four fuck-ing se-conds of Ana's index finger tapping her abdomen, her round hips swaying, her cunt covered in skimpy shorts, leaving nothing to the imagination. Except maybe where Christian's tongue best fit.

Jesus, she's killing me. He turned his chair away from the door, to hide his blush and adjust himself, the heat from his racing pulse forced his lips into a devilish grin of possession. This naughty girl. His breathing was shallow. Where was Luke? Christian didn't want any eyes on him right now.

— _Is that your work outfit, Ana? —_

It wasn't what she had on this morning.

— _Oh gosh sorry, I didn't think about that? ;o —_

— _I made the video this morning, before I got to the training center. —_

— _I'd never Christian. I promise. I'm for your eyes only ;-P —_

She added the damn smirking emoji again.

His thumbs hovered over the keys. My eyes only. Two weeks was impossible. He sent a quick endearment back to her and dove into his schedule. How could he manufacture time to get to Virginia?

* * *

That night, after the slow August workday had passed. After he'd met every demand and need of patients and doctors alike, he and Sawyer, and the drug-sniffing prodigy Sophie, cleared out the remaining corners of his penthouse of all drug paraphernalia. There wasn't much.

The good thing about his controlled addiction, Christian joked, what that he managed his drug problem with intention. Precise intention. It wouldn't make sense to have doses all of the house. He liked that detail about himself. It didn't take long, and after that, Christian fell into his usual routine of loneliness and sterility. Dine alone. Play the piano. Watch some new intubated line technique and go to bed.

...

Luke Sawyer reappeared much later in the great room. "Hey. I was thinking of opening a Verizon store. What do you think?" He called coming down the steps. It was clear Sawyer was ready for bed as he approached Christian, poised at his piano.

"Last bit of business for tonight, doc." Sawyer carriedd the wide center drawer from Christian's Louis Quatorze desk in his home office. "Let's go over all these phones." He set the drawer on top of the closed piano.

Oh fuck, the phones. Christian kept them all.

His perfect face made a puppy dog appeal. Fucker. "I need to confirm that you're not going to engage in any drug seeking behavior with these, or I need to pitch them. What do you want to do?"

Christian stood and fingered the phones. How the fuck had he accumulated so many? There were over a dozen. He had no emotional connection to any of them, the women he had corresponded with. They were a means to an end, he thought bitterly, and felt a fair amount of conscious shame. He noticed Leila's letters were in the drawer as well. And the zip drive.

He didn't even know why he kept all the phones. As he began to tell Sawyer to just donate them all to the Domestic Violence victim's office at the hospital, Susannah's phone caught his eye. He'd only put it to the drawer on Saturday night.

Ana's voice from Susannah's apartment whispered to him now:

" _Susannah texted you last Tuesday."_

" _What?" She wouldn't look at him._

" _She asked you to meet her in the library. I want to make a joke and say with the rope and Miss Scarlet, but…"_

Christian calmed his breaths and hoped like hell Sawyer didn't notice his demeanor had shifted.

"I'm going to take this one to bed. And I need to look at these letters as well. But the rest just donate. I'll give you back this phone in the morning, okay?"

Christian's grip on the phone tightened and he scooped up Leila's letters with his other hand.

"Sounds good. Good night Christian."

"Good night Sawyer, thank you."

He wasn't going to check Susannah's phone tonight. He'd never gotten the text she'd sent him, or she'd attempted to send him last Tuesday. A week ago. She'd been dead for a week. He didn't want to look at the phone, because it made him look suspect, and he didn't want toss it either, because what did that say about him, that he wanted to escape his past. He wanted to help.

Instead, he opened the first of two letters from Leila. _Leila…_ He moved out of bed and over to the Schiaparelli sofa to deal with Leila.

 **xXx**

As he read Leila's letter for the fourth time, still trying to wrap his mind around what she'd written, his cell beeped. Ana… He hadn't even registered the time. Late, really late, for both of them.

.

— _I took these pics Sunday, after our shower. You said the sweetest things to me, and I just wanted to capture all of it. There are so many things I want to say about how I feel about you, how you make me feel. But I don't have the words, or the guts lol. I hope you don't mind, but I kissed every inch of you while you were sleeping. xoxo Ana —_

.

A series of bloops preceded picture after black and white picture of Ana's pale skin, her wet hair, and her beautiful face poised above him in his bed, she was a shadow draped over him where he slept. Her puckered lips, still petal soft even in the photos, touched his eye lids in one, his lips, his neck in another, his chest and hands too. _How?_

The pressure in his chest, the helix of emotions that had been twisting within him since he'd met her, it had a form now, and claws, and a purpose. To fuse with her, in every way possible.

There was no unwinding his heart from her, no way to stop the hemorrhage of need and passion, and—fuck it, love. Goddamn it. Love for Ana. This new feeling, a monster of love, also had a dark underside.

If something happened to her, he'd be destroyed. Because these feelings, these razor sharp arrows of love and acceptance, they'd nicked his soul.

.

 ** _I'll update again this week._**

 _ **Thank you for reading and reviewing and following.**_


	23. Chp 23 Dr Elliot Grey

_**You guys are the best. I can't believe it, but I have 300 followers. Thank you so much for supporting this story and going on Christian's journey with me.**_

 _ **Check out the The Sisterhood Group here on fanfic, they have an awesome "Days of Fifty" challenge going on-for anyone to write FSOG one shots. I may have written one myself :)**_

 **Enjoy! Mrs Caron**

* * *

 _From chapter 22— A series of bloops preceded picture after black and white picture of Ana's pale skin, her wet hair, and her beautiful face poised above him in his bed, she was a shadow draped over him where he slept. Her puckered lips, still petal soft even in the photos, touched his eye lids in one, his lips, his neck in another, his chest and hands too. How?_

 _The tight, coiled pressure in his chest, the helix of emotions that had been twisting within him since he'd met her, it had a form now, even claws, and a purpose. To fuse with her, in every way possible. There was no unwinding his heart from her, no way to stop the hemorrhage of need and passion, and—fuck it, love. Goddamn it. (Love for Ana.) This new feeling, a monster of love, also had a dark underside._

 _If something happened to her, he'd be destroyed. Because these feelings, these razor sharp arrows of love and acceptance, they'd nicked his soul._

* * *

.

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 23 — Dr. Elliot Grey**

 _Tuesday, August 8 late night_

They'd nicked his soul and the dark red plumes of need that seeped out weren't going to evaporate anytime soon. He was suspended. Between his past and his future.

He rubbed his thumbs over his phone to text her back her.

He knew her admission—that she couldn't express how she felt—he knew she deserved more than a text. If he were more lucid, he'd chastise himself for needing her so fucking badly, and as he thought about all his needs, his fingers slid to the phone icon.

It rang. Don't pick up. It's late. Let her sleep, you greedy asshole. He thought about Sawyer's backpack. Fuck that. He hung up, tossing the phone on her pillow.

A sense of the moment choked his admission behind his molars. He didn't know what he wanted to say, and he was damn sure when he said it, he wanted to see her reaction.

Christian grabbed the phone again. He went back to thumbing the damn glass. Without thinking, he typed the message he really wanted to send, the one he'd pondered since that third night together, when he helped her fall asleep.

— _I need your social security number —_

* * *

 _Wednesday, August 9_

The Grey brothers, exchanged a brief hug and separated. Christian handed his brother coffee and they took their seats in Elliot's posh office. He'd furnished the room with Twentieth century Italian period pieces. Smoothed out angles with feminine lines, juxtaposed with heavier wood pieces, to create a home feeling of simplicity and accessibility.

The barrel back chairs were covered in buckskin suede. Bits of worn brass on every piece, and a huge tufted leather couch created a masculine ambiance, but a safe one. There was natural light from the large windows, framed with dark striped curtains. The two exchanged some politenesses about work and family, friends and Paige, Elliot's wife.

Elliot and he discussed Krystal, still in rehab in Malibu. Their hushed tones betrayed how serious they found her situation, that Felix had basically rescued her from some tragic pending incident at The Drone, and now Krystal's safety was their responsibly alone. After they set down their coffees, Christian began.

"I talked to Mom the past couple days."

"Yeah? About—"

"Yes. About the ceremony—"

"Thank god for that." Elliot nodded enthusiastically. "Maybe now she'll leave me alone. Sorry. You were saying…"

"I'm going to do it. I feel like…"

"Is this about Ana?" Elliot was smiling.

"No. Maybe. I don't know."

 **… _.._**

Christian did not want to talk about the murder investigation, but he was here and his hands were tied. Sawyer had been hired, and his life was changing. Elliot's role remained unclear.

"Why are you so interested now, Elliot?"

"Chris, you approached me. Susannah Roberts died. And now… Leila." He whispered.

"I know." Christian stood to pace, and moved over to the bookshelf, concentrating on the cracked spines of several old journals. "I don't think I can do this?"

"What? Talk about your life?" Elliot craned his neck and twisted in his chair to face his brother.

"Yes." Christian turned around and leaned against the bookcase. "I don't know that I want to talk to you about any of this. My life. It's… sterile. I don't know that I can afford to do this." He avoided Elliot's comforting eyes. He held a phone in his hand, and rubbed his chin where Ana had bitten him at the airport Sunday night.

"I'm not charging you, idiot." He paused. "If that's what you're worried about."

"That doesn't sound very therapeutic doctor." Elliot waited. "But no, I'm not worried about money. I just don't know what the costs will be." He kicked his heel against his other foot, and rubbed his ankle against the sole of his shoe.

Elliot shook his head. "Have I failed you Christian?"

"I've known you my whole life Elliot." Christian looked away. "We went to medical school together, administered in Sri Lanka and Syria."

"We crossed streams in the DMZ." Elliot's smile evaporated and his voice dropped. "I'm sorry I wasn't in Kunduz."

"No." He looked at his brother. "You're not. Don't be. Don't apologize for that. Fuck!" _Kunduz Afghanistan destroyed my life. "_ Nevermind that." Christian paced, and wove his fingers through his hair. He tugged around his scalp, feeling Ana's absent hands doing the same thing.

He paused at the window, turning on Elliot. "Why the sudden interest now? Who I am, how I live? It can't have been a surprise to you." Elliot shook his head. "You can't sit there and convince me you've had some overnight conversion to suddenly become concerned for my wellbeing." The dead bodies of Susannah and Leila flashed through his mind. It was possible the dead women had…

"We've had this conversation already. I care goddammit! You called me, Chris."

A chasm of denial grew up in the space them. The past few days were overwhelming Christian. He didn't feel like conceding anything.

He knew he had to talk eventually. There was a fucking sober companion on the other side of the door, he had a girlfriend he was missing three thousand miles away, he had dead ex-girlfriends—subs, and an urge to confess everything to… someone before he tried with Ana. He sucked in a breath.

 **…..**

"Christian, explain it me. How this all worked." Elliot had been marginally aware for years and had always offered his tacit support of his brother's choices. After Kunduz, Felix had pitched them both— _'safe, sane, consensual.'_

Without embellishment or any emotional revelations, Christian Grey laid out his weekend arrangements in dispassionate language, as though discussing a routine consult with a young resident.

"Why Christian? Why do you have these weekend... affairs?"

"Fuck if I know." He knew. "Hell, to deal with the… loneliness and… to find comfort. I feel unstressed and unalone."

"Why can't you just read a book?"

"Seriously, Ell?"

"Why do you want this, Christian? Why did you do this?"

"You're the therapist. Aren't you supposed to tell me?"

"I'm supposed to listen, and help you make sense of whatever it is that's out of balance."

And there it was… only minutes into talking to Elliot—of course, it was the fucking life he'd been living for almost a decade. Mother fucking balance.

"Why do I still want the distance? After all this time, all the submissives. Why do I still want this detached life? Less than two weeks ago, I had a woman," _Leila… Just say it. You had Leila._ "I had a woman suspended… Why do I… Why do I still…. Need it?"

"There are a lot of questions in there. Do you think I have some magic book over there," he indicated the bookshelf, "with answers? That I can tell you what your problems are and just magically take them away?"

"Who said I had problems?"

"Christ Christian, you just said you want to pursue this with me."

 **…..**

Christian sat back down and pulled both phones from his pockets. He surveyed his texts and emails. Goodloe had updates, his Dad had responded about the investigation. All good.

Fucking Felix would not get off his back about the red tape with MSF vaccines. It's like he wants to suck up to the politicians. That new senator, Winfield, was probably taking kickbacks from Big Pharm to push their high priced meds on third world countries. Asshole.

"Elliot, does this MSF vaccine bullshit have legs? Felix will not let it go."

"It's only been a couple days. I think there's been some push back from Brussels about buying vaccinations from Merck and GSK. I don't know what Senator Winfield's angle is, but he's an ass. Ignore Felix, you know he just wants ammunition. He and Taylor will figure out how to deal with the politicians and the MSF board." He chuckled and added, "I thought Brits never complain… Felix is such a contradiction."

"You can say that again."

"He needs to be a patient in his own sleep clinic."

Christian swiped his other phone and pulled up the pictures he'd taken of Ana over the weekend, and the ones she'd taken of them.

With an exasperation, Elliot interrupted his daydream. "Fine. I'll start, okay?" he huffed out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair. "I think you want the submission, the control, because you are successful at it. A caring dominant to those women that want it. You don't fail. Do you see this? Do agree?"

Christian rubbed his ankle where it laid stretched out across his knee. The tiny marks from his attempts to numb himself pricked his fingers, and he lowered his leg. He heard everything Elliot asked, but he didn't want to answer. He wanted to listen.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his hands together. "That's true. Yes. When you're a Dom, you control everything, that's why… Because this beautiful woman wants you to fuck her. Well, not me. They want the Dom…" He shifted.

"Some end up wanting me. But they want a man to be in charge, and they know I'm good. They get to Escala on Friday nights, and they're usually nervous, at first. Which is arousing, because I'm not. I know what the fuck I'm doing. And for the weekend, I'm in control. I was the best Dom in the world. For a couple days, I was at the center of their worlds and I gave them the release they wanted and…" I took care of them afterward, he thought to himself.

"Why do you say you're the best? Why do you say you're in control?"

"Fuck off El. Because I am the best. That's what's…" he shifted to his feet and said, "that's what's so nice about it. I find peace in the control, in their submission. I know that I've satisfied them, I've taken care of them. They felt safe." He looked over Elliot's desk, avoiding eye contact. "I govern their state of mind. I control their emotions and their pleasure, their happiness… for however fucking long I see fit. I can take them deep or keep it short. I take care of them afterward. And it fills me the fuck up. I control it. I make all the decisions. I take care of a woman completely. And I feel like a fucking god afterwards."

"And do you enjoy it?"

He nodded his head as "No" escaped.

"Why not? You've said it's consensual, and you must find your own release too. You've said there's nothing wrong with it." He waited, but Christian didn't have any answers. "What you had with Susannah, for example. That seems to have been mutually beneficial to you both."

Christian stared into the middle distance. "She made me feel like I wasn't alone. It made me feel like… It made me feel that I had some control over myself. That I had some control over my fucking life. That I could determine things for myself. I don't know. I don't know why I'm here."

 **…..**

"What about Ana? Where does she fit into all of this?" Christian could feel the words in his chest more than he could hear them. He stared at the picture on his phone, hoping his eyes would force open a hole and Ana would spill up and take his face in hers hands and kiss this all away.

"I would do anything to be with her." _But I might do whatever it takes to destroy us._

"Christian you have a passionate need for encounters, yet the way you have structured them, it prohibits the exact thing you want."

"Encounters?… they're not aliens, asshole."

"Sorry. I was trying to avoid terms that skewed your time with them toward calling them relationships. Which is what I think they were."

"Fuck off." Christian didn't mean it though. He thought of Ana and winced, she didn't belong in this conversation. She didn't belong… with him. "Being with a sub, made me feel accepted. Each of them accepted me."

Elliot waited for Christian to continue and he did. "There were many upsides to my arrangements."

"Really? List some."

"What? You want a list?" Christian's face wrinkled. "This is personal."

"I want to know the upsides. Go for it."

Christian tsked his brother. "They're never going on Maury to say, _my boyfriends' kinky who should I tell?_ "

Elliot laughed out loud. "That's the best you can do?"

"I felt the control, alright? I just told you all this. Why do we have to go on about it?"

"Because you just said you find your lifestyle isolating. Let's not even go beyond the deaths. This dear friend of yours…"

"Susannah." _She was not a dear friend. Leila was so much… more._

"Ah, Susannah, with whom you spent countless hours. Days together. She's gone." Christian sat back down. "Hear me out here. She's gone in a way you never imagined for her. Her young promising life ended without warning."

"Jesus Christ, El—"

"Listen. This has effected you in ways you didn't anticipate and last week you asked… you've asked for my help. Okay?" Elliot leaned forward, finding Christian's eyes. "You cared about her, even if you want to deny it. You cared about her as one human being to another, and you wish to express your grief. Because that's what you're experiencing, brother. Grief. You want to share your grief with her family, and in turn share in theirs. But your life choices prevent this. It's isolating." He paused, to let the idea sink in. "And now Ana comes along, and you want to share—"

"Elliot. I'm sorry. You're full of shit." _Again? Elliot may be gifted, but…_ Christian suppressed a smirk. "Maybe I'm grieving the serious crimp in my lifestyle this is all causing. You give me too much credit." _Is that what's going on, I'm grieving?_

 **…..**

"What are you saying, Christian?" They stared at each other. Elliot was getting frustrated. "Can you at least admit you wanted to take care of Susannah?"

Christian's mind flashed to a scene from years before. Susannah had begged him for wax play. He detested heat, anywhere near flesh. And fucking fool that he was, he'd indulged her… brutally.

Her warped skin—the memory of it, the smell—it made him sick. But he recalled his own floating feeling afterward, performing the aftercare, his quiet affirmations to her, his tender hands curling her flesh. Her complete supplication as he rubbed every inch of her burned skin over and over.

He shook off that bullshit. Aloe and arnica were tools, part of the method of control through dominance. Nothing more.

Christian had a sad thought. Thinking about Susannah was one thing, but he couldn't imagine discussing Leila—the morgue and his good bye to her cold brittle body. That seemed lightyears away. This feeling over Leila, was it emotion? What did that mean?

"I'm saying, maybe I tricked them into needing me. I manipulated them by pretending to care." He was exasperated by this whole— _Invasion!_ "Elliot, this is not as complicated as you'd like to make it. I know you have your boxes to check." Elliot started to protest. "No, I've had enough of this. I'm nothing more than a control freak with a dick."

"Bullshit. You've already told me the aftercare is a big part of it. There's no sex there. It's not about your dick."

Christian moaned in frustration. "Look Elliot. This is more philosophical than psychological at this point. I want to tell you what I think, but it's hard to articulate."

"We have time. Find the words."

Christian looked at him crossly. "Don't do that." He smirked as a memory came back to him. One of their childhood games. "' _Trust versus fear.'_ I have no trust, and I have real fears. Look, I live my life, uh, with a certain…" He hesitated, thinking about his fucking up life. "God. Let's start there.

"I don't trust the universe that God has… dropped me into. I have a fear that, that I need to hold it apart from myself. Keep the real world at a distance—I have to control every part that I can, just to give me some small piece of…happiness? Satisfaction? That I feel… I can't live without."

"I get it."

"Good?" Christian laughed. "Good, because I don't. I have no fucking clue. It's confusing to talk about. I think I'm honest about my need for secrecy and privacy. To everyone. But if I am aware how honest and candid I am, where does that put me?"

Elliot nodded to him to keep going.

"At times, the fear makes me desperate. I feel actual despair."

"And what helps the despair recede?"

"It doesn't, goddamnit! Sometimes it morphs into dread and angst." He pictured his peach pills and his patches, the little Ambien pills he was sure Sawyer had flushed down the toilet.

"I see the angst. Why the dread?"

Christian waved him off and looked out the window. Wondering what the whole fucking point of this exercise was in the first place. "Do you think I'm broken, Elliot? That I'm living a broken life?"

"We started this conversation with you telling me how amazing it is to be a Dom. How amazing you are, as a Dom. Which is probably all accurate. You were candid about that."

Elliot leaned forward and went on. "I'm going to tell you something important now. I want you to know that on this other side of this ennui… this isolation, and boredom you're trying to spout off as leaving you so fucking contented…" He paused to make sure he had Christian's full attention. "There's bliss."

Christian laughed a bitter laugh.

"I swear to god there is bliss in connecting. A wave of it, that can carry you through these dark moments you have. Instead of indulging them—your dark side, which you're unwittingly extending it's power over you and distancing us, the family that loves you and needs you.

"If you would only connect to the world beyond your control. Yes, there's risk and massive downside, but there is also tremendous upside which you should have. You should experience. If you surrender to bliss, it will carry you through the dark moments. It won't eliminate them. Far from it. But living among the rest of in the world, on a daily basis, you will have so much filling your cup… you'll notice the dark moments and either…Fuck! Get through them, or they will recede on their own. Or you'll be back here, to see me."

Christian shook his head. "Elliot, what if my dark, has no limits? What if there is no bottom to it? I'm pretty sick."

" _Christian—"_

"I'm a monster. Maybe controlling my life so tightly, I keep the monster from really taking over."

"Says the doctor who just finished his eighth MSF campaign."

"Fuck off."

"You're kidding yourself." It was Elliot's turn to smirk. "You're scared."

Christian mumbled something about Nina and the dead in Afghanistan.

"You're fucking scared to try this." Elliot was almost laughing now. "You want to get into a philosophical discussion about how dark you can be? There's always going to be a next level. Do you see thought? That understanding that a level is dark is, in and of itself, an acknowledgment that there must be a light system as well?"

Christian nodded slowly.

"Right?"

"Maybe… Is this how you got Paige to marry you? With you Star Wars light side versus dark side metaphors?" he asked.

"Fuck… Christian. Just listen to me, okay? Think about what I've said?"

"I hear you, doctor. I want to engage." He breathed. "I think." He checked his phone again. "I can't escape the image that I'm going to die alone. It's seared into my mind, the choices I've made, the people I've…"

"We all die alone, Christian." Elliot reached over and tapped his arm, getting his attention back. "Before that, we make choices. And if there's one thing I know about you, it's that once you chose to become good at something, you do it. You succeed. You find success. It's this decision to dive, not the entry in the water, that's hard for you. You can do this."

"Maybe," Christian rubbed his lip between his fingers. "Maybe."

 **…..**

"Tell me about work. How's your practice?" He looked at his phone for updates, then put it away again. "Are you going to speak at the gala for Doctors Without Borders this year?"

Christian really laughed, shaking his head. "You fucker."

"I'll wait." He looked at the little clock on the side table.

"Elliot, I maintain the memorial, okay? It's what I do. Flash a smoldering smile and ask for money, sedate as many people as possible and charge them for it. Save a life or two. I fucking hate being me." He chewed this inside of his cheek. "Didn't you know?" He was ready to leave. "That's part of my secret private life." He shifted to stand up. "What did you think? It makes me sick to be famous for one incident. It was a terrible tragedy and I'm…"

"It's alright, Christian. Stay with me."

"God. Elliot." He gritted through it. "Everything I do, it's nothing but service to the statue. Build up my reputation. I spent a great deal of time, tearing it down, you know. It's impossible to get out from under something like that." He swallowed his disgust. "The world is a fucked up place. A very fucked up place." That innocent young falcon from his balcony flashed through his mind. Even at home, there were reminders of the crimes he'd committed in Kunduz.

"But you're thinking of getting the ceremony over with, right? That's what you said when you came in here."

"Yea, sure, I…"

 **…..**

"When does Ana get back?"

"Not for another eleven days. She's a fucking massage therapist for the Washington Redskins training camp. Assholes." Christian slumped again, shaking his head at his imagination.

He scowled, thinking he was any better than the animals who wanted to paw her. "Ana's innocence, shit. I can't…" He turned away. "Her fucking earnestness baffles and frustrates me." Elliot was patient.

"You know, she living in my building because her father died, on my floor, and…" Elliot nodded. "At first—at first, I saw her as an invader, intruding on my carefully constructed private life. Here's this delicate beautiful woman with healing hands, and she knows things about me. Things that might seem shameful to outsiders. And then, she thinks I can help her?" He pictured Ana exhausted, leaning against his front door, her pink pouty lips, her face weary from restlessness, her big blue eyes begging for him to take care of her. "Then she just showed up one day, and demanded."

"From what I've heard, she doesn't sound very demanding, Christian."

"No, it's… she was uninvited. She wanted _things_ from me. Things I could never give her. Things I didn't want to give her. I didn't know how…" He bit his lip and grimaced at his brother. "Now, she is a test of my self-control. She wore me down. Maybe she tried to seduce me, I don't know." He fought off the emotion his memories were raising. "Maybe I tried to seduce her. I mean, Elliot, I did _everything_ I fucking could to avoid her…"

Elliot appeared unimpressed. "No listen to me El, and when I… We… finally figured it out, fuck! When we finally got to where we both wanted…" _I realized I love her too much to break her._ "I… I can't accept it. Her. _Ana_ … I think she wants what all the other women have wanted from me."

"And what is that? What do you think all the other women wanted?"

Christian was incredulous, but replied cooly, "A release! For fuck's sake. My women want a release they can't get anywhere else."

"You can't really believe that…"

"What's that mean? You think I'm lying? I know what I'm doing Elliot. Trust me." Elliot was shaking his head, and Christian was getting really angry. "No trust me doctor. I know how to get a woman off. I know how to take care of her when we're spent. At her most vulnerable." He was shaking, visions of Ana's face, her voice, and smile, her beautiful body filled his head. "But all this time… Ana. She's so much more than my usual submissives." His voice has softened to a whisper. His brother smiled at that.

Elliot didn't say anything for some time. Christian had said so much, and he appreciated the quiet.

Eventually, Elliot noted the time. "The key Christian, to why you're here, to what you're telling me, is that you want to recover from all this. You want… for lack of a better word. Hope." He stood, encouraging Christian to do the same.

"Telling me your story, it can heal you. It works." The men hugged, and Elliot grasped his shoulders, pushing Christian back far enough so he could hold his gaze. "You've gotta trust me because I've been doing this for a while now and I'm great at my job." Christian nodded. "We will get through this together."

* * *

She answered on the first ring. "Ana?"

"Hi…" her voice was so soft but it still hammered in his ear drums like a signal.

He shook off the blush he felt rising, and closed his eyes as though that would force down the lump in his throat. He tilted his chin in a grimace—a reaction to the emotions erupting from her simple sound—and shook off his affection.

God, he missed her. "Hi."

"Hold on…" There was brushing over the phone and he heard her whisper words, something about her boyfriend calling her. Boyfriend didn't sound right. It sounded small compared to the churning vibrations stoking his entire frame. He was so out of his element, lost and drowning and completely okay with it. "I'm back," she huffed. " _Christian_ —I miss you."

"Ana…" I miss you too. "Who were you talking to now? Describe them to me."

"Oh, Dr. Grey, I am not listening to your silly demands. My studio, my rules."

He slumped against his locker and wondered how he'd ever existed without this person. This connection. Sawyer noticed his surrender, and rolled his wrist, get on with it, keep going.

"My social security number, Grey? I text you a stream of sexy pictures of us and you ask for my social security number? I'm pretty sure I should be worried. Are you secretly working for INS?"

"Ana, I want to see you. It's been…"

"Three days." They said in unison. Their laughter mingled over the line.

"I was going to say too long, baby." She didn't say answer. He imagined her resting her face in the curve of his neck, breathing in his scent, her long eyelashes tickling him. "I didn't call looking for an invitation."

"Oo-kaaaay…" you're losing this Grey. Sawyer nodded, mouthing some encouragement.

"I have a proposal."

"I don't know Christian. This is a really busy program, I'm sure you can imagine. You can't come down here, you'd be bored stiff." Yep, even that excited him.

"No, not that. I don't want to interfere—" or see all the men you're molesting with those magic wands you call hands." He hesitated and scowled at Sawyer, who was a chipper son of a bitch, with his eager gestures and fucking all-American good looks. Fucker.

He turned away and said, "I checked my schedule and realized this Friday, I have to be in Washington DC to pick something up." He let that sink in. It was real now. He'd said it. "I wondered if I could get you to fly up with me, from Richmond. Join me overnight. For the night." Don't stop now. Keep going. He was nervous. "I'll make all the arrangements. We can share dinner afterward. Together."

"This Friday? August eleventh?"

"Yes."

"Christian." it was a question.

"Ana."

"Don't you have to work?"

"I've cleared my schedule."

"The," she hesitated, "the schedule that said you have to be in Washington DC this Friday, and you're just telling me now?"

"Work with me, angel. I'm going crazy not seeing you."

"That's pretty coincidental that you have to be on the East coast right when I'm in Virginia." He didn't dare answer. "Are you stalking me?"

"Asks the girl with a dedicated room for spying." He answered.

"Stop. Seriously? I want to see you, but do you really have something to do in Washington?" She was so curious, it was cute. Cute?

"I can fly in late Thursday, early Friday, because of the time change. We could meet at the Richmond airport Friday morning. Then we can head over."

"Head over where? What are you picking up?

"Now, that would be giving it away wouldn't it?"

"I have work, they are counting on me. I need more information. Like…" She sighed, and he could picture her perfectly. "I'm not much for surprises Christian. This may not be a good idea."

"Give a guy a chance, Ana? Can't a guy sweep you off your feet?"

"I don't know."

"Trust me." Did he just ask that? "Trust me, Ana. This is a good surprise. This'll be good. You'll be pleased.

"Okay."

"Okay? Yes?"

"Yes," she giggled. "Yes, Christian. I want to see you. I want you to surprise me."

"Ana—"

"I'm not making any promises. I think I can do it, but just know it might still not work. I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Good. I'll text you the details. This is good. And Ana," he added, "you don't have any issues with the government do you? Outstanding warrants? Parking tickets?"

The quiet from the other end sounded like her brain working overtime. "What a funny question, doctor. No, I don't."

"Ok. Good. And I mean obviously, I can't wait to see you, but I need to stress that we cannot run on your spiritual time tomorrow. We have to stick to a strict Eastern daylight savings time clock."

"My spirit time? What do you mean my spirit time? I am—"

"Ana, since I've know you, I've never seen you in the same place at the same time two days in a row."

"That's it. You are stalking me."

"No, it's that… Sweetheart, you beat to a different drummer and it's well, it's cute and sweet. But Friday, it won't work."

"Real time. Not spirit time. I got it." She giggled and stopped. Surely she was biting her lip. They'd been talking for several minutes and he never once pictured her sucking it.

"I'll text you the details. Have a good afternoon."

"Wait, Christian?"

"Yes, baby?"

" _Again_." She purred. "I want you to surprise me _again_. Because you are constantly surprising me. And…"

"No, Ana. You are the surprise of my life."

There was a long silence, they remained suspended in his admission.

" _Fri-day"_ her voice trembled.

"Friday."

* * *

 **Christian couldn't stay away from her. What do you think is going to happen? Where is he taking her? Thank you for reading and for all your messages reviews.**


	24. Chp 24 Property of the NFL Part I

_A/N_

 _*So… I use NFL stuff without permission here (cringe). And I quote Virginia Woolf too. I might as well admit that I may or may not have stolen an idea or two from Lanie Love… you should check out her website **lanie love dot com**. __And I don't have a beta, even though I probably should. But **mllezeau** reads almost everything I write before I post it. And she's the best._

 _Oh, and the Playroom of the FSOG of Sisterhood—that's on Facebook, and The Sandman wouldn't be here without the playroom and ALLL the fabu ladies in it. Yea, but do all that AFTER you read this chapter. I had sooo much fun writing it, posting was delayed because maybe I reread it myself a time or two. xoxo Enjoy!_

.

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 24 — Property of the NFL* Part One**

 _._

 _Thursday, August 9_

 **Christian rose from sleep** and headed down the hall to his room. He'd fallen asleep on the couch in the great room, reasonably confident he'd been in the middle of a conversation with Luke.

His face hurt, and he did a dry handwash, raking his fingers over his stubble and head, rubbing his scalp awake. It was early, but Sophie wasn't around, maybe she was visiting Luke upstairs.

He passed his closet and caught movement in the periphery.

"Ana?" She froze in the early morning light filtering through the window's shade.

"Good morning Dr. Smooth." She crossed the room and walked her fingers up his arms, kissing her way across his bare chest. "How did you sleep?" He hummed in response as his arms swept around her slim waist and he lifted her up. She felt good against him, like she fit only him.

HIs heart pulsed so loudly in his throat, he barely registered her legs where they bumped against his and he heard her shoes clop against the carpet as she slid back down to standing.

He didn't release her, only sighed as he planted a kiss to her crown. Having her here in the morning was such a tremendous feeling of normal, his fingertips pulsed against her ribs.

He was grinning. "What are you doing here?" He noticed she was dressed in his blue scrubs. And she was out of breath. "Are you…"

She pushed back on him and said, "Let's talk later, ok. I had another lonely night without you and I couldn't stay away." In a quick move, she slipped her pants to her feet, revealing her long slender legs, dark and smooth in the thin light. She crossed her arms in front and lifted the hem of her shirt over her head.

"What the fuck!" She was wearing a plum barely-there swimsuit, like a bikini with a tiny skirt.

Fuck me. She was dressed as a Redskins cheerleader. He reached up to touch her. A tight gold-lined top criss-crossed her front, pushing her cleavage out, her nipples beaded through the shiny fabric. There was nothing to her outfit. Her torso was naked, and far below her waist, where her tiny hip bones framed her most feminine parts, she wore a shimmery little plum skirt. It flared, almost inviting him to peek below. A huge _'R'_ covered her triangle.

All at once, a catalogue of emotions and impulses lashed through him. Was she trying to goad him into a punishment, taunting him with her job? He was barely holding it together, and she thinks it's playful to celebrate…

His body's stiffening response overrode his anger, because even though she was shrouded in dusky light, she was the sluttiest, most fuckable mascot he'd ever seen. Her hair was an early morning mess, her sleepy face made her young looking and agreeable.

He wanted to take her immediately, lift her up and impale her warm center over and over, thrusting hard and fast, her slick walls weeping down the sides of his thick cock as he buried himself to the hilt.

The Dom in him wanted to bend her over, spank her perfect Redskins-clad ass until its color matched that dark red excuse for a skirt, then he'd fuck her hard from behind. Yes, bend her over, watch that backside quiver as he disappeared between her lips.

Without another thought, he yanked her up against him and ravaged her, forcing his tongue over every millimeter of her inviting lips and mouth, sucking and biting at the bare skin around her throat.

The sweet moans she made only urged him on, fueled his desires, his need to corrupt her, to take his carnal reaction to her tight primed body and transform the ache he had to be inside her.

He was wild and dragged Ana almost forcefully into his bathroom, shuffling her quickly before she could form a coherent protest to his urges.

 **…..**

"Up, knees on the counter."

He stood behind her against the vanity, they both faced each other in the mirror, lust dazed eyes, staring at their reflections. Christian lifted Ana onto the counter, holding her up as she adjusted herself to kneel.

"Hands on the mirror, baby. Spread your legs." He pushed on her shoulders, to encourage her to lean forward more, to balance herself, with her weight supported on her calves and knees. He pulled her hips back, so her buttocks was almost hanging off the edge. Her round ass popped out begging to be caressed and slapped.

"Perfect" he intoned. In position, he thought to himself, but that thought, Ana on display, was too unpleasant. He rejected it instantly, and felt chills up his spine at the thought of her submitting. She wasn't fucking posed. He hadn't posed her.

Ana could only stare at his reflection, her mouth half open, she was so turned on.

The lights flickered and went out. He pushed his pants off, and he bounced free. As the heat ticked up between them, the room grew considerably darker, and the only light came from the shower fixtures. He'd take her in there next, after he drove her crazy on his vanity.

More lewd affirmations spilled out as he salivated at the idea of sucking on her clit while she rode his face under the rain head.

She shuttered, regarding herself in the mirror, wanton… open and presented to him. He could fuck her like this for hours. But she was still wearing that goddamn costume.

He ran his hands from the top of her head, down over the curve of her ass, massaging her center, and then back up, relaxing her, marking her torso, setting the rhythm for their coupling.

"Ana, I'm going to fuck you with the head of my cock, baby. Just the tip." He swallowed slowly, he might come from their visual alone.

"You. Me. Waking up to you in my home. This outfit, it's such a mind fuck. You're a colossal tease, Ana. You know that?" He held her shoulders. "I'm going to make sure you know it. I'm going to use this," he slid his cock underneath her ass, between the v of her legs, and she watched it throb below her when she looked down.

His voice was gravel and groan, "I'm going to tease you back, and you're going to watch." Ana's breathy moan was strange for it's mixture of salvia and need. "You want this, baby."

He grit out more filthy things he was going to do to her, but he was losing the battle, his cock bounced in her cleft, and he could feel her moist lips through her bottoms. He pressed his chest against her, and pulled her to him, letting his cock settle between the countertop and her covered pussy lips.

He grabbed the edges of her tiny top at her shoulders, dragging his nails down, he exposed her breasts. She sobbed her approval as they bounced in the mirror. They were perfectly round and so fucking tight, her dark pink buds were pointed and hard, begging to be plucked and squeezed.

"You're so fucking hot, Ana. I'm going to fuck you senseless." He tongued her neck. "Did you wear these things on purpose? To test me?" How could this beautiful woman drive him so crazy?

She nodded over her faint sighs. Her lip was hidden under her teeth and she rocked over the length of him.

"You're so wet I can feel you through your—what the fuck are these anyway baby?"

"Christian…" She was getting impatient, and he didn't mind. "Itsaskirt…" she mewled, "with panties…"

"It's not made for men, or easy access. Where are the goddamn seams?" He pushed his finger into the side.

At first, he wanted to rip the fucking _'R'_ skirt off her body, but the spandex was unforgiving, and his efforts only made Ana beg through her huffed breaths.

If he didn't push into her tight body soon, she was going to come on top of his dick instead of around it. His large thumb pulled the center of her skirt to the side and he bent his knees just enough to shift the angle. Then he was inside her and she convulsed.

They muted each other out with their satisfied moans, Ana leaning back against him, resting her head on his shoulder as she came. Pulsing her thighs, raising and lowering herself over him. They took turns watching their connection and each other in the mirror. Ana's hands covered Christian's where they worked her perfect tits.

As her sighs increased, his legs tensed and he finally bore in, fucking the very center of her. Grunting and growling, his sole purpose was to pound her out of her clothes, out of her therapeutic career touching others, healing them.

He wanted all her touches. Everything. And as he felt himself swell within her, poised to shatter apart, he saw the reflection of a dark figure hovering behind then. Watching.

He looked at Ana to see if she noticed, and her face was full of passion. She leaned forward again and pressed her forehead and hands against the mirror, twisting her neck. Her mahogany hair stuck to her everywhere, she was panting and a sheen of lust made her skin glisten.

Her tongue slipped out of the corner of her mouth, as her body bounced against him. She held a wicked grin as she turned back at look, almost laughing. "No, Ana. My eyes only. Look at me baby, with those baby blues."

" _Christian?"_ Luke's voice called to him. On instinct, Christian reached around to cover Ana, shield her reflection from that fucker. But as Christian raised his hands from her hips, she evaporated. The lights flickered back on and the marble walls collapsed to reveal the morning light. He was alone.

And awake. Luke stood beside the couch, while Sophie licked Christian's face. He squinted against the low bright ball of the sun, setting through the western windows.

"Luke… Hell." He needed a minute. It was a fucking dream? Ana isn't here.

"It sounded like you were having a nightmare. You okay?"

"I'm fine…" He rolled on his side, his body still unaware his little interlude was a fantasy. "Now fuck off." He felt like an anvil had landed on his chest. Those moments with her… He was broken apart. That was a dream?

"It's time Dr. Grey. It's Thursday night. Flight's in ninety minutes." Christian just lay there. That dream… Ana was so…

"Fine." He sucked in a deep breath. Then, he let it shudder out slowly while he got his bearings. "Give me a minute, Luke. I'll be ready."

"You got it, Doc." Luke turned to exit, leaving Christian panting, his imagination and latent sleepiness fighting logic. He felt wrung out with desire.

"Your lawyer called a bit ago, and Detective Wheeler. It worked out. You're cleared to travel."

"Thank fuck for that."

He waited there on the couch for a few more minutes, then set off for his bathroom, to shower and finish packing.

That dream was fucking with him.

She was a vision. A vision of what life might have looked like if everything went right in the universe. His lone reflection looked back at him in the mirror. The corners of his lips curled up to laugh at him, as he tried to make out Ana's handprints, where they'd heated the glass, as she'd held herself up, riding Christian, watching their intimate connection.

Fuck, he wished he'd remained in that dream forever. He snorted bitterly. Then again… Wasn't that what Sawyer was for? So he could find real, lucid moments to match his dreams?

In reality, that dream was a nightmare. Of what might be. Right now, realizing Ana was still a day away, he was emotionally drained and felt more isolated than ever. But… Maybe he could ride this out. He slumped toward the shower, tossing his clothes, punching the hot water on.

Ride this out. _This?_ What the fuck was this, he almost cried out.

Was he still dreaming, or was he awake? Because _this_ … this thick gush of _feelings_ —the constriction in his throat that turned his every sound into a hushed yearning. The deep spasms churning in his core, remembering, still tasting the languid rolls of his tongue against hers. Fucking Christ. He held onto the sensation that he was weightless, floating above, looking down momentarily on his best self, intimately connected with the one woman he surely loved… She was a continent away, and he was unmoored. Could he do this? Could they both survive his dream, his reality?

* * *

" **I can't wait to see you, Christian."** Ana was on the phone while he was packing. To see a woman. He must have looked like a cheesy fucker, smiling like an idiot.

"Baby, your boss was fine with it? What's his name?" She didn't answer. "Ana?"

"No, he's not fine with it." She sounded defeated. "Whatever. You let me worry about it." She hesitated. "I mean, I could lie to you, and tell you everything's okay, no one is scrambling to cover for me, but I won't do that. I'm going to avoid it, and say, let's not talk about it. Because I desperately want to see you too," she sighed. "If there were another way… There's no way you can come here. It's just too complicated and—"

"Ana, we're the same. I don't want to spend the weekend away from you either. You don't have to protect me. I think I made my position clear last weekend, when it comes to your pretty hands, where I want them." He'd marked her hands and she in turn marked her body for him.

"Your position? My oh my, Dr. Grey, the things I could say about that." Her lovely laugh mocked him. "I assume no hints, right? You're not going to tell me where we're going?"

"No, baby. I'm not." The plans had changed only hours earlier, he was surprised himself. "You can trust me, it'll be good." He opened another drawer, "Actually, I had incorrect information for you when we spoke yesterday. We are going to a different location."

"That's a relief, because the last _location_ was so run down. Thank god you found a new location." She paused, then said, "You're terrible. I want to know where we're going. You haven't even told me what to wear—"

"Do you have a dress, baby? You should bring one. Otherwise, it's very casual. Bring clothes for doing things outdoors."

"Yes, I have a dress."

Good, she had a dress, at training camp. "Wait… why do you have a dress, Ana?"

"What do you mean, why do I have a dress?"

"Well, you're at training camp, right? What purpose would there be for you to…" Show off your pretty legs, grant easy access to wandering hands.

" _Shut. The fuck. Up. You're crazy!"_ Sawyer had walked in, and talking and waving his hands at him in horror, whispering and motioning for Christian to shut it down. _"What are you doing?"_ He mouthed.

Christian waved him off while Ana spoke.

"Christian, I don't spend all my time in track suits and team gear. My uniform has to come off at some point." She sighed with humor. _Mother of God, she can't be so simple._ There was noise on her end of the line. "It depends on what _position_ I'm in." She purred, to tease him.

"Ana. God, you kill me…" He sat down on the end of his bed, and motioned for Sawyer to leave. "You really are something else."

"What I am, is yours." She hummed her affection. "Now. A dress. Anything else? What are you wearing anyway?"

"Ana…"

"Christian?" He was speechless. Maybe he moaned. "You liked that didn't you? My being yours?"

"Mmm. Very much, angel." More than you know.

"I like it too. I like that you're mine. And you're so easy to lo—look at."

"Speaking of uniforms, Ana. Please don't wear any Redskins clothing this weekend." He dismissed Luke's cocked eyebrows. _Don't worry hot shot, I know what I'm doing._

"First you tell me I run on spirit time and that's a negative, and now… what? I need to dress to impress?"

"Baby, you could pull off a burlap sack."

"Christian." His name in that voice, that raspy lilt that communicated so much more. Tomorrow can't get here fast enough. "I'm confused. So I don't have to dress up?"

"Right, I'd like you to wear a dress for… baby. I'll text you ok?"

"Do you still have my tattoo?"

"What?"

"Property of Ana?"

He chuckled and said, "It's really faded. You can mark me again, though. Preferably while I'm awake so I can reward your efforts."

"Interesting."

* * *

 **When Christian and Luke** **left for the airport Thursday night** , he felt lighter then he had in years. Without thinking about it too much, it had taken a monumental psychic effort for him to finally make the calls to Washington, and the subsequent calls to Brussels and Kiev, he was okay with what he was doing.

Christian had to admit to himself that Sawyer's presence had had an impact. If he'd made the calls only seven days earlier, he was sure he'd have cycled through a numbing cocktail of barbiturates and Pinot Noir in celebration, or shame. But he hadn't, and that was progress.

Unburdened by secrets (save for the one he'd decided to bury forever), he was looking forward to the weekend, to seeing Ana—sober companion in tow, _because…why not?_

Ana was a beautiful brilliant woman. She was more than anything he ever deserved, in this or any other lifetime. How could he not find a small measure of joy that she was still in his thrall? As he and Luke load the R8, he even managed to smile to himself.

The ceremony…he thought to himself. He sighed and rubbed his face, a sense of wiping off another layer of ash and dust, turned his stomach… but just once this time. He'd get through it, one fucking way or another, even though it was another commemoration of that awful day in Kunduz.

Fuck it. His motives had changed. Ana had changed him.

Last weekend, with a thunderstorm swirling around them, Ana had sat on his lap and asked for his forgiveness and understanding. That she was leaving him to work for the National Football League, to massage a squad of huge virile men. Hour after hour. Day after day. _God his chest ached._ He ignored it.

Her plea, her raw exposure, weighed on him all week. Hell, she never had to ask him for forgiveness, she had it. She owned him completely. Her huge fucking heart and sweet charms calmed him, and lit him up at the same time.

Her small act of contrition, over something as understandable as her job responsibilities, had shown him something. That she could admit she was insecure, that she was conflicted, and he could offer her acceptance.

He was inspired to finally attend the ceremony by Ana's willingness to face his rejection, and her honesty that she was conflicted. She was willing to give him that, after spending just a few nights and one day together…

In exchange, he was going to stuff away his anxiety about his life's choices and he was going to embrace what she offered. Trust and vulnerability. She took a risk and accepted the uncertainty. He was going to do the same. For her.

It seemed every idea he had ended that way… _'for her.'_

However, he was nothing if not a responsible physician first, so he'd handled his medical practice, rescheduled elective matters, and leaned on subordinates to find the time to travel. Zachary was not out of the woods, but his condition had been upgraded to stable. Dr. Goodloe and Andrea were a call away, and they'd managed to shuffle a resident or two into Christian's rotation until they found an opening for him to get away.

 **…..**

 **Everything was set.** Fly to Charlotte on tonight's red eye. Christian had upgraded their seats to First Class so they could sleep on the plane. Then he and Sawyer would take the early shuttle to Richmond Friday morning, and wait for Ana to meet him there. Christian had an appointment with Million Air Richmond, a local charter service, to go over the next leg of their trip. He'd arranged something with a former colleague, and he needed an hour or so to work out the details.

Even though his pulse remained steady, he had to admit he was excited that if everything was working out. A few small snags appeared earlier today—when it looked like Ana would be unable to get away. But her boss had finally agreed to cover for her. (The same boss that wouldn't let her get out the assignment altogether, he noted. Whatever, they were going to be together again). And the dog, that little dog was a major nuisance.

Ana was not pleased that Felix was watching Sophie. Sleeping in the guest room at Christian's house.

" _What are you going to do with Sophie?"_

" _I invited Felix to stay at Escala for the weekend._

" _Felix? I don't… like Felix. He's a pervert."_

" _Sophie is a dog, Ana. She's safe from Felix's fetishes. I think." He laughed._

" _Oh stop…" she moaned. "You're not making it any better."_

" _Ana," his voice grew husky. "I'll always make you better, goddess."_

" _Gah! That's it, I can't take it when you talk like that. If you were here I'd attack you."_

" _Ana." he tongued his teeth, rolling over memories from Sunday, her beautiful body spread out for him. "The things I want to do to you."_

" _Like what? Hmm?" She was so sweet. "Are you about to Shakespeare up on me? Count the ways, doctor?"_

" _Shakespeare is so far from what I'm thinking. And we're into the thousands Ana, multiple volumes of acts." He pictured her lips next to her phone. "More like George Martin."_

" _Are you kidding? Littlefinger? Really?" He laughed out loud. She's…_

" _Don't go there, Miss Steele. YOUR name is more arousing than Littlefinger."_

" _Valyrian steel, Dr. Grey?"_

" _Hmm…" What the fuck is she talking about? "I'm going to make you beg, baby."_

" _You'll be the one begging, doctor."_

" _We'll see, Ana."_

* * *

" **Doc, we're on a plane to North Carolina.** I gave you my social security number. We're airborne. Now, can you tell me where we're going? Throw me a bone. We're flying cross country to see your girlfriend?" He raised his eyebrows, the insinuation clear. "Pricey booty call, isn't it?"

They'd lifted off and the flight attendants had finally scurried, after some excessive catering to and fawning over the pair of handsome men.

Luke's question was reasonable enough. Even though he was duty-bound to go anywhere Christian wanted within reason, it was doubtful he'd anticipated a cross country trip to meet Anastasia Steele, and the other… people he'd most likely see.

Christian didn't feel like talking about it. Even though he'd initiated the whole damn thing.

How was it that MSF—a huge part of who he was, perhaps the most important part of his life—made him so uncomfortable?

Part of the appeal of MSF was the distance it put between his home, his real life, and the difficult locations where he volunteered. He didn't owe anyone, especially this sober companion, any explanations. Except for Kunduz.

His mind flashed back to the plaque at Seattle General:

— _The 2009 Seattle General Hospital Public Service Award honors Dr. Christian Grey, for his heroic acts on August 1, 2009 during the tragic friendly-fire bombing of the Doctors Without Borders hospital in Kunduz, Afghanistan. Dr. Grey marshaled the evacuation of 505 patients, including 59 children as well as their caretakers, and 80 fellow international medical staff to safety bunkers. Over thirty minutes of sustained bombing, he refused medical treatment in order to limit the suffering of others. As the building burned, Dr. Grey saved countless lives and minimized casualties. —_

" _FIRST DO NO HARM"_

It was eight years ago—eight fucking awful years. Full of days, months really, where it was a struggle to just get out of bed. To not succumb to the self-loathing and disgust. Christian was a good doctor, an even better humanitarian, and yet, he didn't want to add anymore to the myth that was Saving Kunduz. Even if Luke had a legitimate reason for asking. Even if Luke had no agenda.

"We're going to polish the statue, Luke." And yes, I consented to this whole charade, after fighting it for several years, so I had an excuse to see Ana. Although, after last weekend's deep connection, not just the physical pleasure that passed between them, but the honest and emotional exchanges and confessions, he wanted to… He wasn't sure. To impress her seemed absurd. She wouldn't care. Maybe he wanted to let her know that contrary to what she thought, he was capable of seeing himself as something other than dark and brooding. Did he want that for her, or for himself?

"Hmm," that earned him a nod. Luke rolled his neck some, and adjusted his seat. Casually he asked, "Who's statue?"

The question surprised Christian. He had to think about it. _'Who's statue?'_ "Mine…" Luke's eyes bugged out. "What?" Christian blushed. "I guess. I've always thought it was me." Was it though?

"You have a statue, Doc?" Christian rolled his eyes. "Where is it? That's pretty cool."

Christian stared at Luke's curious expression. _Are_ all the laurels over Kunduz really about me?

"You said, _'Polish the statue,_ ' Christian? What the fuck does that mean?" Luke was smiling, interested. Christian didn't feel like talking anymore.

"Maintain the memorial. Celebrate…" Fuck, he wasn't going to get into it. Luke would find out soon enough. Why didn't he quit talking and go to sleep. "To get an award." He acquiesced some information. Christian wondered if he put his noise cancelling headphones on now while Luke was still talking, how long would he feel guilty about it? Not long, he calculated with a smirk.

"What award?" Sawyer was still fucking talking.

"For this thing in Afghanistan." Fuck… Luke was going to hear all about it tomorrow, so why not. "I was part of a Doctors Without Borders mission in Afghanistan, and the hospital got bombed. By an American fighter jet. The whole building caught fire. Burned down eventually. Several of our doctors died, fourteen actually, and dozens of civilians and… others." Christian pressed his hand to the back of his neck and pulled. Discussing this made him ill. "We saved a lot of people and people can't shut the fuck up about it."

"Doctors Without Borders? The guys, the doctors in war zones? You do that?"

Christian nodded.

"How am I just hearing about this?"

Christian shrugged. "I don't know, Sawyer. You're the one who knows Elliot. He's an MSF doctor too. You and I, we haven't know it each other that long, and the circumstances—"

"Friendly fire, right? That's enough to make anyone want to get high." What was he implying?

"What the fuck does that mean?" Christian didn't like anyone thinking he was weak.

Luke ignored him. "You know…" Luke tapped his nose and pointed at Christian. He was too close. "I saw the documentary on the History channel. I know who you are. You're that guy?"

That made Christian laugh. "There's a documentary?" Why for Christ's sake? Must have been another whitewash.

"You know what?" Luke was animated, happy, like he'd just solved a mystery. "I was offered a treatment of your story. I did a line reading and everything. I don't know, maybe… five years ago."

"A treatment?"

"A script, a movie about… exactly what you're talking about. A prestige drama. Ethics of drone warfare. The hero doctor's story. Love in the war zone."

"Yea?" That was all he could say. The bomber was no fucking drone. Christian wanted to feel offended, another exploitation, and more polish on the throne.

"Yea," Luke nodded eagerly. "That was you? You saved all those people?" Christian was repulsed.

"No… I don't know… Maybe." Christian's mind immediately flashed to the dead and burning. His scars itched and he felt like… let it go, but he didn't. "I'm sorry. What did you say? You auditioned for a part to play me in a movie?"

"There was a sexy female lead, too. A Russian ballerina subplot, if I remember." Christian shook his head, unbelievable. "Nah Christian, I wasn't going to play you." Luke smirked, then smiled with those perfect teeth.

"Huh? Then—"

"Are you kidding, man. I would have gotten the part of the hot doctor."

"You asshole." Christian smiled, enjoying the light moment of camaraderie.

Luke shrugged. "I have no shame about my appearance. It pays the bills." Right, but not anymore—Brian Luke was the actor. Luke Sawyer was here because he was an addict once himself, which was a reminder that Christian was broken too.

"Not anymore though, right?" Sawyer's eyes met his with a shocked expression. "What are you doing _here_ , Sawyer?" His face fell. And like that, Christian sunk back to asshole. Fine. Fuck it. It felt good.

"You can fuck off doctor. I'm saving your life." In that moment, Luke's disgust for Christian was matched by his own. "Because… what you told me now?" He leaned forward, his neck long and posture almost threatening. "You need me, and you don't even know it." He shook his head. "You have no idea."

 **…..**

Christian tried to summon the anger that normally kept him safe from such intrusive remarks. Such, _human_ interactions _._ He really was a dick. "I do have an idea, Luke. And now maybe you do too. I'm not a good guy, alright?"

He went on. "If you want me to confess that I'm trotting myself out as some hero, to polish the statue and impress Ana? Give her a little piece of bullshit to hold on to." Without missing a beat, his face contorted in a derisive sneer. "So she can justify to herself why she should keep me around. Fine. I've thought it. Maybe a part of me knows she's going to walk when she finds out the truth." He sniffed away an emotion. "When she figures my shit out." He shook his head again. "I need this. Need… her. So I'm going to leverage what I can to… to… I don't know, make it last."

"Christian Grey." Luke's mouth hung in an open smile. "That sweet voiced girl is not going anywhere. I've heard the two of you on the phone," he leaned in "I've heard you skyping. She's into you. She's not going anywhere you don't push her. This diet of denial you're force feeding yourself is not going to fly with her. Being authentic, that might help."

Christian shook his head and said, "You don't know me Luke. You wouldn't like me if you knew me."

"Is that what you say to Ana?"

"Go to hell, Sawyer."

They sat in silence until Christian finally said out loud, the truth he'd known since he saw her that first day. "She deserves someone better than I. But I'm not decent enough to let her go." His chest coiled tightly, picturing her closing a door behind her, a silent dismissal and shame. "Instead, I'm going to seduce her with a dog and pony show, which I detest. More than you could possibly understand."

"Are you finished? Cause I got all the time in the world to listen to you gaslight yourself. Which is pretty damn impressive. I got nowhere to be. So please finish. Cause I have shit to say too."

God, how he'd love to wipe the smarmy knowing smirk off that fucker's pretty face. Those damn bright teeth were gross. "We're finished here."

"Christian, I've seen you at work for the better part of the week."

"Your point?"

"You're a god at that hospital and it has nothing to do with some statue, or award."

"We're back on this shit now?" He pulled on his hair.

Luke laughed. "Yes, we're back on this shit. The shit where you have to listen." He whispered, to keep the conversation between them. "You turn heads." Christian's entire body dismissed him. "People watch you, study you." Christian was shaking his head, ready to protest.

Luke ignored him and said, "Their behavior reminded me of how I prepare for a part. They study your every move. Listen intensely, learn from you. It wasn't one person either, or just the nurses fantasizing. It was patients and family, it was a lot of fucking admiration and respect. Even love, from some people I saw." Luke looked—moved. Christian squinted his eyes in distrust and immediately wanted to mock this stupid actor's false sincerity. "You're much more valuable than you give yourself credit, Dr. Grey."

"You mean intently, moron. They listen intently, now shut the fuck up."

"You know they have a nickname for you—"

"Please stop, alright?"

"Come on man, let me do my job."

Christian's razor thin tolerance evaporated, and he was angered by Luke's fucking actor's studio insinuations. Through gritted teeth he redrew the lines he knew. The tight box where he felt safe, his life manageable. This was a fucking bad idea, bringing a sober companion. He was bound to go on with his positive twelve step BS.

"I don't have to let you do shit, Sawyer. _You work. For me._ Got it?"

He wrestled his seat belt off and checked that the aisle was clear. "In the past week, I have spent more time talking about my fucking life than I have in…" he looked to the heavens as though there were some answer written down. He voice cracked on his next remark. "Ever! More than any other time in my adult life. Now fuck the fuck off!"

He stood up and leaned over, gripping his hands on the headrests in front and behind. "Right now, we're finished." He rose back up and slammed his hand down on the headrest in front of him, disturbing the woman sleeping there. He made his apologies as he retreated down the aisle toward the restroom. Fucking Luke Sawyer doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about.

 **…..**

"Tell me about your… the last time you used, Christian."

That stopped his movements. He'd just returned to his seat after chatting up the flight attendants, visiting the head, and meditating briefly for the second time this flight.

The last time he got high? He rolled his eyes, thought about it for a second, and continued to adjust his pillows. "Sorry, not happening." He managed to smile in Luke's direction, even if the rest of his face and gestures said fuck off.

"Come on. We've got a few more hours to kill." Christian's demeanor said don't count on it. "Let me do some work."

Christian laid down and adjusted himself. "You're correct. We do have considerable time before we land and I plan to sleep," and dream more about my little honey pot in Virginia. "You'd be wise to get some rest too. We have to transfer in Charlotte—to a prop plane, Luke, and you already said you don't like flying. Sleep now, so your nerves aren't shot."

"Doc, this is important." Christian remained passive, respecting Sawyer enough to offer him eye contact, but little else. "I've given you plenty of leeway since we started, Christian."

Christian shrugged and reclined his first class seat. He set his Bose speakers on and covered his ears.

 **…..**

"Saturday." Christian said after some time. He noticed Luke's eyes were open, and he started talking, not sure how long this openness would last. He shivered off the last of his reluctance. For now.

"What is Saturday, doctor?"

"The last time I… abused drugs." Christian turned his face away, looking out the window across the aisle.

Luke turned to the side, his chair was still reclined. He scratched some imaginary itch on his left cheek and sat there. Waiting.

"Elliot didn't know. He couldn't have."

After a long time had passed without conversation, Luke said, "Elliot didn't know. He called last week and told me about the last two months. What few details he had." Luke remained laid back, out of Christian's view. His voice was behind him.

"Last Saturday, an eight year old boy named Zachary fell at the zoo. He was goofing around on a statue near the birds of prey exhibit." He pictured himself as a young boy—or how he imagined himself as a young person. "Zachary was doing shit that any normal eight year old does. Except," he cleared his throat, "he got spooked by one the birds." He paused. "According to his mom, a raptor started beating his wings and Zachary reacted, and he lost his footing. He twisted and tried to keep upright, and this little person managed to pull a two-hundred pound concrete statue down across his torso. Crushed his chest, AAA. Very grave—"

"AAA?"

"Sorry, abdominal aortic aneurysm." Luke nodded. "No chance of recovery. Except, LifeFlight got to him quickly, our OR team was ready, the second best surgeon was scrubbed in within minutes." He looked back over his right shoulder at Luke. His eyes were trained on Christian, full of worry and understanding. Christian drank some water, then reclined his chair, so he and Luke were lying beside each other. He spoke at the air vent above him. "I was the anesthesiologist on call. The surgery started fine. This kind of injury is tricky. No sane doctor wants to operate. It have a mind of its own. An adult with an AAA, they can bleed out in a matter of minutes, seconds. With a child, the bleed out factor is exponentially worse."

He didn't want to tell Sawyer what he'd done after. He was so ashamed of all the death hanging around him, that awful day, the interrogation, his feelings for Ana. How he'd taken evidence from Susannah's home, and nearly lost it over Leila's dead body. "I noticed the black blood, and figured he had a high grade liver laceration. Powers, the surgeon, got in and took care off it."

Sawyer waited. Christian knew what he was thinking, how does a hero go from saving that kids life to creeping into a woman's restroom and shooting himself up with propofol? "I…" he couldn't say anymore.

"That's impressive," Sawyer said. "You saved that kid's life? Elliot mentioned that you'd saved someone else's life earlier that day too. An old man in the emergency room?"

"What?"

"An old man, in the emergency room?"

Oh," Christian rolled his eyes. "Elliot, he's always… that's my brother. An old man went into cardiac arrest in the ER. Hardly a surprising outcome that a passing doctor noticed." He chuckled.

He paused and took a measure of Luke Sawyer. Christian was going all in. He would tell him everything he could, and see what happened. He went on, "I mean I can say the propofol was the _last_ time, but I'd also dosed the night before. When I went to bed. I don't remember anything." He paused again, thinking about the last moments in the elevator with Leila, his bloody foot leaving tracks every where. "Luke, I have nightmares. They're pretty disturbing."

"What do you take?"

"Dilaudid… and… whiskey."

"Hmm. How many?"

Christian puffed out a sigh. This was fucking insane. What he did to himself. "Three, four."

"Powerful."

"Yea."

"Christian?"

"Yea."

Sawyer hesitated, not sure where to take this conversation. "Why didn't you take any medication that night?"

"Sorry, what night?" It was painful, this accounting of his addiction, but talking to Sawyer felt safe on some level.

You dosed right after Zachary's operation, right?" Christian nodded, "Then later, when you got home, why didn't you take another dilaudid, or Ambien? Sorry, man. It's better for you the more I know." Christian shifted, tacitly agreeing. "Your bedside table was overflowing with fentanyl patches. Did you pull an all-nighter Saturday? I can't imagine you could have slept—"

"Ana." Christian pressed his head into the head rest and closed his eyes. "Ana came over. She spent the night. Nothing happened." _Everything happened._

"O-kayyyy… good to know. Ana normally sleeps with you?"

"It was the first night." His skin pricked thinking of Ana kneeling beside him, her thin gown wafting over her head, the sounds and feel of her naked skin sliding against his body. He pictured her tiny hands snaking her underwear around her hips and over her knees. She wanted him, she wanted to make love to him—and then he fell asleep, naturally. Ana was his drug now.

Here, on an airplane at 40,000 feet in front of Luke Sawyer, Christian was embarrassed at his body's reaction to nothing more than his days old memories of her, hovering over him. Her gentle touch. Her kiss, her demands. Had they only spent the one night together? That seemed impossible.

"Wait… that's not true." He was flooded with memories from their evenings together, her body against his on the couch. Their kitchen dates.

He looked at Luke for… who the fuck knows what. How could Christian explain what was happening? How could he puts words to the tidal waves he lived in for the past two months? Tidal waves of Ana, and Krystal, and Leila…

Somedays, his life—before Ana—his career, numbing people, easing their pain, drugging people… his private life of contracted women, all of it… it dragged him down so far, his only chance of surviving was to swallow as many numbing agents as he could. _Before Ana._

Luke was staring. Christian chastised himself, "For fuck's sake. What do you want, Luke?"

"What does all this have to do with Ana? Where does she fit in? Because it looks like she is—"

"Yes! Yes, she is." He couldn't contain his need to see her. His need to touch her and reclaim her. Words escaped him and he returned Luke's puzzled look.

Luke, slick fucker that he was, helped him out, gave Christian a much needed pass from explaining his brief outburst and wicked confession: "Earlier Doc, you said the second best surgeon operated on Zachary. Who's the best?"

"Felix Ramal. British asshole. Brain surgeon." That brief and accurate description of Dr. Ramal effectively ended the conversation and both men drifted to sleep.

...

 _What do you think? Thank you for all your favorites and follows. I read every review and respond to each one._ xoxo Mrs Caron


	25. Chp 25 Property of the NFL Pt 2

_A/N_

 _Here is the second part of Property of the NFL… Thank you so much for all your support, here and on facebook. It really is awesome, and means so much. Life is real a lot of the time, right? There are so few things we really control. One thing I'm proud of is this rambling redemption story, and the fact that you all read it and talk to me about it :) You're wonderful, each of you, and it means so much to me that you read. Your commitment makes it that much more special._

 _Now I confess, I broke this part in two as well. I really like this reunion moment and didn't want to pollute with anything else. So… their reunion. xxoo_

 _._

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 25 — Property of the NFL* Part Two**

 _Friday, August 11_

It was Friday morning. Finally. The Richmond International Airport was small by airport standards. And today, it was muggy and deserted. A callback to a bygone era of small commercial flight traffic. Concrete and asphalt, decorated with military transports and last generation commercial airplanes. There were a few prop planes for weekend enthusiasts and a few charters. The grounds were poorly kept, it was an eyesore at best.

To Christian Grey, it was paradise. Anastasia Steele was on the grounds, nearby and close. The sun's heat, the August humidity, the lazy morning attitude he had this late in summer, he'd remember every detail about this morning. It was the backdrop to reuniting with Ana.

His face hurt already from his perma-grin. And he felt every bit a young man, eager and bewildered, unsure yet completely at ease. He couldn't think of an apt comparison for his alertness, his turbulent emotions and physical energy. Diagnostically, his body was a synaptic mess of shallow sleep and caffeine. On the bright side, he was calm. No, he wasn't. He was fucking nervous as hell.

He'd sent Luke to collect Ana from the airport, and shuttle her over to the charter terminal where he had just finished finalizing the arrangements and inspecting the equipment for the last leg of the trip. He was a happy fool. And tired of waiting.

To keep himself busy, he checked in with his staff at the hospital, even though it was early in Seattle.

He had to laugh. If his calls weren't monitored before, he was sure all his communications were monitored now, because of where he was going. He got a kick out of the irony, he'd bent his life so much to protect his privacy, and now… he was on everyone's fucking radar.

He spoke with Felix—that ass had dragged poor Sophie up Tiger Mountain at 5 in the morning, and he sent Elliot a text:

— _this Luke fucker is a pain in my ass… Thx loser—_

He sent Ana a text for no reason other than he wanted to control her a little. He needed it. If she was making him wait, he was going to force her to check her phone. He weighed what to say, swaying side to side. Considering that even over the din of an airport runway, he could hear his heart beating in his ears, he knew what to say. Of course…

— _Only by you, my heart always moves—_

When he read it back, he thought ee cumming made him sound like a sap, so he sent her another message, to make her giggle.

— _You're late, my heart can't wait :)—_

He took a minute to open Signal for an encrypted check-in with Krystal. The irony wasn't lost on him that in the midst of his own recovery with a sober companion, Krystal was cooped up recovering in Choices in Malibu. _Was that empathy, Grey?_

— _68 down 22 to go kiddo._ _It always seems impossible until it's done. 'I'm possible.' Believe it—_

Krystal would be fine, he felt it. Her recovery was on track. His own, on the other hand… so far so good. He'd been pre-occupied with the police investigation, work, squash, and managing his sexy brunette dynamo from a distance, so he'd had little time to think about whether he was actually recovering yet.

He shook his head one last time at the far-fetched plan he and Luke had concocted late Sunday for Ana's benefit. Really, it was to protect Christian's sobriety—his fucking heart from catastrophe—his own perceived weaknesses.

Christian wasn't ready to reveal all of himself to Ana or even his work colleagues, but he was working on it. He sure as hell wasn't ready to admit to Ana that he had sober companion.

Luke agreed that his reluctance to tell Ana was reasonable. And thank fuck Luke got it. It was his idea—since he'd played an undercover cop on _Deep Code_ for so long—he volunteered to play that role for Christian, to pose as a Seattle police officer.

Luke was sharp, and he'd immediately suggesting leveraging Christian's status as a suspect. He was confident Ana would buy that he'd been assigned as Christian's court-ordered close protection. Christian was a little thrown by how much Luke immediately relished the idea, but that was his business.

It was crazy, sophomoric, and foolish. And Christian accepted the risk. Aside from the safety to recover it offered him, he enjoyed knowing another person had his back. Telling Ana he was a drug addict, got high at work, swallowed enough pills to leave him catatonic for hours, had a mini syringe taped to the back of his knee most of his waking hours—all because he couldn't deal with his own fucked up life— telling Ana all that, it wasn't an option, yet. If ever.

It was in up to Luke now, anyway. When he met Ana at the airport this morning, he was going to explain that he'd been assigned to shadow Christian until certain aspects of the police investigation changed. Dr. Grey was the prime suspect, or in the _'maybe he did, maybe he didn't'_ language of modern law enforcement, he was a 'person of interest.' The lack of leads warranted protection for him, or supervision. That's the bullshit Luke was selling.

Granted, there were no imminent threats to Christian simply because he was traveling on the East Coast. It was also true, their little trio was bound for possibly the safest place in the United States. Christian's lawyer had agreed to this innocent subterfuge, and they'd formally requested a criminal court order of protection, at least until there were other developments within the investigation.

Therefore, he was now under the watchful and protective eye of an officer of the law, Luke Sawyer. Truthfully, Christian was thrilled Luke was the one who had to look Ana in the eye and explain that garbage. All this, because of his shame over his narcotic addiction. All part of the mirage of his life. When he finally did tell her, she'd understand, hopefully.

 **…..**

Ana texted back.

— _With Luke… Can't wait to see u—_

— _I would love to be your personal defibrillator xoxoxo—_

 _You are, Ana._ The thought humbled him.

He ran his fingers over the glass. He knew she did the same, they'd discussed the cool feeling of the phone beneath their warm fingers. After all the travel, the scheduling acrobatics he went through to get to her, Christian tried to breathe out his anxiety, his troubled thoughts about what their futures held, and focused on one thing. Looking into her beautiful face, and watching her smile in return. Any minute now.

The arrangements he'd put in motion with the charter service yesterday had worked out seamlessly. His credentials checked and the equipment had passed inspection. He filed the flight plan he'd drawn up and every thing was copacetic.

He kicked around on the tarmac waiting for her. He'd adjusted his hair and shirt several times—short sleeves, miracle that was, but Ana had insisted—then he paced around some more, stepping on his morning shadow created by the warm sun.

He slowed down long enough to stretch again, and squint at the sun, picturing her pale pretty face framed between his large hands. Immediately an uneasy feeling within him shifted, like passing over an invisible wake that forced an unsteady turbulence to rise up. Would she still want him the way she begged for him, begged for it last weekend?

He balled his hands and leaned his head against the steel fuselage beside him. She was rewriting all the ways he coped with his life. The loss of control, the loss of time. _The When._ He had mastered the when. It kept him safe. Understanding the when saved lives. It sure as fuck did. Ana obliterated it, destroyed it.

She stopped time and reanimated it whenever his mind wandered to her. Fuck, he couldn't catalogue the physical symptoms he'd experienced since she'd appeared, all angel-face and forgiving fingers in his hospital. He looked at his watch again, his chuckle a surrender. Ana, Ana. He just needed her.

Suddenly, he whipped around like a sprung coil.

Ana's sweet laugh, even from a distance, shot like a cannon ball ricocheting through his body, stinging his eyes with stars. She's here. He moved around to the front side of the cockpit. He ground his hands down in his pants pockets to prevent them from shaking, or pulling his hair out by its roots.

There she was, only fifty yards from him, smiling in the sun. She was small and soft, the breath of a song. She looked happy, her hair was loose flying up in the runway breeze, and her cheeks had color.

She wore a plum jacket half-zipped, tapered at her waist, and her jeans accented her perfect hips set on slim legs. She wore sandals and looked every bit relaxed, unaware of the pyrotechnics exploding inside him.

She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she'd shown up. Jesus he was pleased. And happy, so fucking happy.

His dreams from the past week were dulled by the film of recollection. He'd been right about one thing. She was a vision, even as she giggled at something Luke said. Her small body leaned into his, but her eyes fixed on Christian. He absorbed her gaze as it bore into his center. Like a mortar round detonating inside him, his chest exploded.

His lungs seized, his chest cavity peeled back painfully, so painfully he couldn't breathe, and a flood of euphoria, like nothing he'd ever felt, filled all the space in his body. When she tilted her head, to hide her own flurry of emotions, his heart beat a new cadence. Fucking defibrillator.

She lit a match with her smirk, and the fingers of that fire reached across the tarmac. He needed an anchor. It was pretty fucking clear that Anastasia Steele, the complete woman in front of him, was anything but an anchor. He sucked in a breath between his clenched teeth.

Ana shuffled awkwardly, like she didn't know the fastest way to him, then slowed alongside Luke, her eyes struggling to make sense of the massive blue Medi-Vac Eurocopter behind him.

 _That's right baby, I'm a pilot._ He smirked, and suddenly felt shy and unworthy. How could she want to continue this? He hoped his head was nodding to indicate yes, they were going to fly in a helicopter. Yes, he was going to take her on the trip of her life.

 _Are you ready to be swept off your feet baby?_

That's when he noticed her left hand. It was gripping Luke's bare forearm. To steady herself? Had they shared some confidence? Did she know him? Maybe she'd been seduced by Luke's good looks and his tacky strobe smile.

Fuck! Christian was acutely aware of his anger and could recognize it quickly. It was quiet, and dangerous. It didn't simmer or build, or erupt like a volcano. It was cold and existed minutely, invading everywhere on a granular level inside his veins. It slowed his heart, thickened his blood like an ice flow, and ground down frenzied movement into deliberate laser intensity. This was not happening.

His anger had consequences far beyond a loud argument, a silly broken phone, or the threat of sexual punishment, delayed release. He could damage people with his anger.

Ana had stopped walking, and he could see her chest rise and fall. She was breathing abnormally. His spine flexed in warning, as scales of alarm rang up and down his back—she wasn't gripping Luke's arm in a warm embrace, she was holding herself up. She was hyperventilating.

Christian would remember what happened next on a slow motion reel for the rest of his days. In the midst of the sweetest torture, when their connection combusted, Ana smiled at him, a radiant smile that torched his corneas and set fire to his pulse.

And she ran at him, her arms stretched in front of her. His past his future, every moment he'd lived, faded to a blur and the only thing that existed, the only real thing was her.

Panic looped around his heart, and he lost his breath. His stiff body was a drag on his soul, when all he wanted to do was move to her, but he was frozen, unable to connect his brain to his muscles. 'Ana' he tried calling, but his throat was too busy swallowing his heart back down as it tried to beat out of his body.

His fingers burned feeling her soft skin even though she was still moving toward him. The goosebumps and sheen of sweat that coated his neck and back were physical reminders that he was alive. That he wasn't dreaming, and he was so fucking grateful. He felt like screaming out, he was so shaken by her proximity.

Ana slowed when she got close, like time hung back, like the universe willed her to memorize this moment too. When she reached him, her arms slid around his neck, but she kept moving forward. She hitched her shin onto his thigh like she was climbing him, forcing him to lift her up in his hands.

He staggered back from the force of her and reached behind him, bracing them against the cockpit glass.

They embraced, sighs intertwined.

"You smell so good," she said. "And you feel… I missed you. I missed you so much." Between sobs, she pulled at his shirt and squeezed her legs around him, trying to get closer than physically possible.

"Ana. I need you goddess." They looked at each other. "I don't like us when we're apart." Her eyes were prettier than he remembered, and they danced over his face, just as his danced over hers. Their hands and arms danced as well, touching and holding, mapping their wonder, sating need.

They mumbled sweet affections while Luke kept his distance.

"Tell me angel," he whispered in the shell of her ear, fuck she felt good, "who's jacket is that? Is it yours?"

She squeezed back tighter, and nuzzled her nose into his favorite spot. "You're ruining my moment Christian. I've missed you so much." She kissed his neck. "You fill my whole vision. Everywhere. I can't see anything else when you're around."

He set her down and they drank each other in. Eyes intent, bodies tingling. It was so quiet between them, a reverent moment, they were both probably thinking the same thing, although they weren't ready to admit it.

Christian smirked, if she only knew what went on in his head. Who moved first, they'd never know but when they finally kissed, when their lips touched, it was electric and jarring. Ana bumped off him and giggled as the momentum forced her mouth from his.

His body lit up like a circuit board, he was all sex and motion, thankful the helicopter was there to hold him up. When Ana's purr sounded more like a grunt, Christian released her lips and looked over her shoulder. Luke Sawyer squinted at him, whether he was amused or annoyed Christian couldn't give a fuck. Get lost. He didn't appreciate how Ana was so immediately comfortable around him. Christian glared at him, and unwrapped himself from Ana.

 **…..**

"You've met Luke." God she was perfect.

"Yes, he saw me at baggage claim. I was trying to surprise you—"

Christian barely let her finish her sentence and he was grabbing her elbow directing around to the doors of the helicopter. With his eyes boring into Luke, he half informed half demanded, "Luke is driving. He's renting a car and he'll meet us there."

Ana stopped and pulled her arm back. Looking between Christian and Luke. "What do you mean? This thing looks pretty big," she rested her body on the side of the helicopter. "Why can't he ride with us? It seems like a waste to make him drive." They both looked at Luke and he shook his head, smiling that fucking movie star grin. Asshole. He tried to hide his smile, covering his mouth and ducking his head down. _She did say us_ , Christian took small comfort in that.

"Ana—"

"' _Ana,'_ Ana what?"

"Don't baby."

She feigned innocence and twilled her hair. "There is room for him, Christian. Please?"

"Fine. No talking to him." She was smiling, he was whipped. What did it matter? They were together.

Luke slipped behind him, muttering something, "I'll wait inside," and grabbed Christian's bags as he climbed in the helicopter.

"Get your headphones on. Keep the sound off." He parted Ana's hair like a veil. "He's working. I want you all to myself."

"Fine." She kissed his cheek and hugged his neck. "Thank you. Thank you for all this. You don't know what this means to me. How could you."

"Ana…" He held her against him, absorbing her words. "I want to know, baby. I want to know everything about you."

"Right now, there is only you, Christian. Only you. It seems all my thoughts end with your name… Your face, your hands, your mouth. Your eyes closing while you kiss me. Over and over. Just you."

"Ana." He held her in his arms, trying to pull her close to him.

"No!" she cried out and pushed on his chest so she could look up into his face. "No, you have to hear this. I've been a mess." Her voice cracked, she was desperate. "I've been thinking these things about us. About you. They are the best things and the worst things. I want all of you, not just the sweet doctor, or the brooding dark prince." She stopped talking and sucked on her lip, shaking her head.

He was glad for the quiet, because what she'd just said, how she saw him—fuck, his heart was in a million pieces. She couldn't really think this way. Maybe she was sleep deprived again.

"Ana, what are you saying?" Christian searched her haunted eyes.

"Let's get out of here. There's a hotel in Terminal 3." She looked around, confirming Luke was occupied.

"Ana, I don't think that—" Was he really turning down sex with this woman?

"I know what I want, Christian, and I'm already tired of talking." she laughed. "I'm tired of waiting. You ruined me last week. But you already knew that didn't you?" She whispered in his ear, then sucked on his lobe. _What did he know?_ "I'm so crazy about you, if you haven't noticed. And, and now that you're here, I want to lie down and turn my brain off. Well, not all of it. You didn't have any plans did you, Mr. Control?"

Ana backed them up to the tail of craft. Holding his shoulders, she climbed the cross bar of the landing skids until she was level with him and leaned her full weight into him. The next thing he knew, she'd locked arms around him with her tongue as far down Christian's throat as it would reach. Her body molded to his, from her face to her feet.

The sounds between them were electrifying and his nerves were numb with need, at once delirious and on edge. Every crackle of emotion and feeling he could fathom passed between them. How had they ended up like this? How had she been the aggressor and he didn't seem to mind?

"Ana… Ana, thank you." His hands were under her jacket stroking her warm torso, his thumbs brushed along her ribs. "Thank you baby. For coming to see me. I needed you too. I need…"

"Please… I know. Let's get a room." They were lust and frenzy, unfazed by their circumstances. "Please? I am so happy, so happy right now. Let me show you. Sometimes your words," he kissed down her neck, overwhelmed by the taste of her. "Your words, they undo…"

Christian might regret this for the rest of his days, but he stopped her with a massive kiss. Her voice was too much. He ran his nose up the side of her face and kissed her temple, pressing his face against her, waiting until he caught his breath.

"Ana, your mouth is making me think terrible things."

"Define terrible."

"Oh Ana," he smiled wide. "Fuck!" He leaned his forehead against hers and his deep breathes bounced between them. "Ana. I want what you want, but I…" he hugged her tightly. Then separated from her, enough to find a sliver of sanity. "I filed a flight plan, and we have a pretty tight window—"

Yea, tight was the wrong word. Blame his libido, but he captured her lips before she had a chance to interrupt and they were lost to each other again.

"Mmm, Christian," she huffed, "I don't want to be the reason if we're late. I checked my spirit time back at the compound." She smiled against his cheek.

"The compound?" Christian slid her hair behind her ears, framing her beautiful face. "You make it sound like confinement." He looked her over, remembering every beautiful curve, every enchanting movement. "I'm secretly glad you hate it." They continued to kiss, their lips feathering through their words. They were trying to convince themselves of what?

"The camp, I mean. I'm on Christian time." They were both struggling for oxygen. _Christian time._

"Baby, you cannot imagine how unlikely it is that I'm saying we need to stop. As I say it, I don't believe it. But we are on the clock."

"Well, then we better get going, right?" He squeezed her body to his.

He was smiling and laughing and had trouble forming words, which only made him laugh harder. He brought a palm to his eyes to wipe away the tears. "Yea, we better."

"Lead the way doctor. Or should I say captain?"

His breathing was erratic, as was hers, and he struggled to find language with a vocal alphabet. He laughed at himself. Again. "You should say whatever pleases you, sweetheart."

"You please me." He watched his own hands move over her face, grasp her long dark hair in his fingers, and followed their path across her collar bones, over her shoulders, and down the length of her arms. He clasped her hands as tight as he could, telegraphing his heartbeat through his fingertips. He stretched her arms straight at his sides, drawing her to him, her body leaned against his.

He whispered against her mouth. "You're going to love today." She nodded, then turned to wait for him to help her into her seat. Once secure, he kissed chastely, with reverence and gratitude.

When he pulled back, Ana's face followed his, their eyes locked on one another. Eventually, she kissed him at the bottom of his neck, and inhaled deeply, whispering some breathy affection against his adam's apple. He had no idea what, but the warm air from her breath spread out over his skin, across his torso and along his extremities.

These declarations… her demands, her simple kindnesses, even if he couldn't hear her words, hijacked his world. His private and isolated existence.

He studied her gorgeous face in awe, he considered the brilliant woman behind her pretty eyes. If he never took another breath, if he never saw another sun as bright as today's, he knew in some way, he'd be alright. How had he managed to find Ana? The chances and coincidences… he was okay.

… _.._

 _Thank you for your favorites and follows. I devour all the feedback you give me. xoxo Mrs Caron_


	26. Chp 26 Those Eyes

_A/N First of all thank you so much to the new readers who are now following The Sandman. All your support, here and on facebook, it really is awesome, and means so much. Life is real a lot of the time, right? There are so few things we really control. One thing I'm proud of is this rambling redemption story, and that fact that you all read it and will talk to me about it :) You're wonderful and it means so much to me that you read. Your commitment makes it that much more special. I owe a big shout out to my Sisters in the Playroom for their genuine enthusiasm. xoxo_

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 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 26 — Those Eyes**

 _Friday, August 11_

 **He was staring.** And at the same time calculating. He knew once they got where they were going, there was a schedule, an agenda not his own, one he had no control over. Instead of thinking about his obligations, the apple polishing and glad handing, the regurgitation of his good deeds, he counted time. His _Ana time._

He parsed today's events and hours, down to minutes and seconds. The time he had to kiss her, to reacquaint himself with every inch of her. The amount of time he had to control her orgasms. How many times could he fuck her before she was too spent to be presentable? It was really important stuff to ponder. His mind was full of ideas. She'd need time to dress, but not clean up. He wanted her marked, yet comfortable. Most importantly, he needed to leave her with the minimal energy to stand upright in front of…

Damn… he blinked. A lens flare of the right corner of the window exaggerated the morning sun. It created a halo effect as Ana's eyes met his. She was an angel dragging him out of the darkness. He shook his head. Unbelievable.

He was piloting a helicopter with a gorgeous woman, here of her own volition—no contracts, no strings, no obligations—hell, she was fucking with her own employment just to be with him. He smiled and looked behind her at Luke Sawyer. What a fucking trip. He had a sober companion tagging along in the back, likely listening to some self help Bikram shit.

Ana beamed like a kid on Christmas, and Luke's seat faced backwards behind her, so Christian couldn't see his expression. Both were clueless to the massive shift in the universe that had taken place on that fucking rundown tarmac. When did I start thinking like this?

Of course, Ana was the natural answer. He started thinking like this because he met Ana. Although… Ana wasn't the whole truth. That weekend with Krystal was the match. And fucking Felix Ramal had lit the fuse. Helping Krystal get to Choices in Malibu, had been the catalyst that made Ana—hell, this trip—possible. God, he shut that post mortem down. Better to focus on Ana's mouth, how her hair felt between his fingers. Her own uniquely Ana scent between her breasts.

He piloted the trio up the mouth of the Potomac River, Virginia to the left, Maryland on the right. Christian thought about who he was before that weekend with Krystal, while he took furtive glances at Ana, wide-eyed and slack jawed at the view. She had been the entire trip actually. He'd do anything for her. Even this.

Separation and sedation had been his mantra for years. It was how he coped with being Christian Grey for as long as he could remember. This morning was sweet confirmation, and with each glance at Ana and her shy enthusiasm, he couldn't imagine ever settling for his isolated, mostly inebriated ways again.

As he flew, he jettisoned off more of his other stand-by bullshit, the vague platitudes he told himself to make his dreary life tolerable. _Does it matter?_ He said it all the time, and kept his emotions in check with scheduled sex, and a jaded philosophy about his own purpose.

Ana's slipped her fingers between his on the joystick and squeezed, letting him know exactly what his purpose was. Fuck all of it! Life death ambition luck. It all mattered now. Because she mattered to him. So right now, _Does it matter?_ He couldn't find a cynical explanation among the thousands he lived by to deny how he felt right now. Fuck yes, it matters.

So he stared, trying to find a vocabulary, a new set of diagnostics and symptoms. If she were a disease, he'd destroy the remedy. If he was a disease, she was his cure.

 **…..**

"Nice wheels, Dr. Grey."

"What?" She gave him an are you for real smirk, her eyebrows hitting her hairline. She was so cute. The helicopter. "Oh… yes. We have somewhere official to be later today, Ana, and we have a limited amount of time to be…"

He had to look away, and found the bright sun was diminished next to the woman radiating beside him. Ana was stunning and perfect and so close to him. Is this bliss?

' _Nice wheels'_ were the first words she'd spoken since they were on the tarmac and he'd shut down her pleas for immediate sex. Laughing, he pictured her pouty face, as he adjusted her headset. Her quiet attitude continued, even as they waited for the rotors to kick in. They sat on the ground for some time, waiting for clearance to takeoff. Ana remained subdued and reflective.

Christian looked back to Luke for a read, only to remember his seat faced away. He could only view the trip laterally. Christian smirked, Ana was right, no need to make Luke drive. He and Ana were effectively alone for the flight's duration.

Now, though, her compliment between their ears. She'd tied his tongue and his voice came out fuzzy when he rejoined the world of phonetics, "I know it seems extravagant, but it really is the most practical way to get… to where we're going." He grinned and pulled out a sincere romantic smile, tilting his head, going for ironic sexiness. Then his voice trailed off as he took in the adoration in her face. "I didn't want to get stuck in traffic, and spend all my time driving, instead of…"

"Spare me your logic, you're amazing. This is very sexy and very cool."

"You've flown before?" He couldn't quit looking at her, she was here, in a helicopter with him.

"Sure I have… mm… in Maui. I've been on those helicopter tours." She stared back. "The views here, are much better." Her eyes glistened. _"Christian."_ He could hear the longing, see it written all over her face and body.

"I know. I feel it too." He reached out quickly, and rubbed her jaw between his thumb and fingers. He smiled before looking back at the instrument panel.

"How much did this cost you? I know you're a doctor, but you're not loaded."

"Does it matter?"

"No. Not really. It's your money." She leaned over far enough to rest her face against his shoulder. "I was just curious. You've spoiled me, Christian. It's incredible. You are—" She squeezed his bicep.

"You deserve it, baby." He kissed her crown, breathing in her proximity. "The truth is a friend of mine, Adam DeCasas, is a trauma specialist at Johns Hopkins Medical School. I've known him through MSF for several years." Ana pulled away to watch him speak.

"He runs the mid-Atlantic LifeFlight program. Most of the major hospitals have air ambulance programs, but they can't operate unless the pilots have trauma rescue and transport training. The requirements stipulate a special medically-equipped helicopter.

"This Eurocopter is pretty much retired from action." Ana nodded. "DeCasas trains the pilots for the Johns Hopkins program with it. Lucky for me, it's an older model, and I'm flight qualified."

"Lucky for us." She licked her lips. He shifted in his seat. He'd get his turn soon enough.

"I called him earlier this week, when it looked like our plans might work out, and luckily, it wasn't scheduled for any training this weekend. They like to keep the…" She was staring so intently, shaking her head. "What is it sweetheart?"

She shrugged her shoulders in the sweetest little flirt as if his explanation had nothing to do with what she was thinking. "Nothing. It's just… you really are Dr. Smooth."

"You know what they say, baby." He peered out over the top of his Ray-Bans.

Ana demurred, biting her lip, looking through the top of her own eye lashes, shaking her head no. She pulled his sunglasses off to see his eyes. It was an imitate move.

"Superior pilots fly helicopters. The alternative is rather plane." She burst out giggling and he joined her with a playful grin, loving how she tried not to break eye contact while she laughed and even snorted.

Ana wiped tears away, and when she'd caught her breath, she called him out. "Oh my god. You did not just say that."

"You laughed." And he was caught up in the lightness of it all, the affection. God he wanted to touch her. "Fuck, even this flight is too fucking long though… I want to touch you, Ana. I want to put my hands and mouth all over you. Fuck you into next week. Next time, I'm renting a limo."

Ana's mouth hung open, not out of shock, he thought, but out of hunger. "Yesss…" she whined, stroking along his forearm, her fingers dancing along his roped veins and muscles, igniting the electricity between them. "A stretch limo."

 **…..**

 **After Christian shifted their flight path** toward the dogleg up river, leading to the final stretch of their trip, he realized he had some unfinished business. He finally exhaled, setting aside his erotic as hell dream from last night, he was sick of all the images in his head of her in that jacket and other parts of her uniform. Fucking Redskins.

"Ana, you and I spoke this week about your attire."

She tut tutted him. "And don't forget we texted, too," she replied. She gave him an I don't know what you're talking about shrug. Dirty girl.

He rubbed his teeth with his tongue. "In fact, you and I have extensively explored dress codes, beginning last week in the kitchen, if I recall."

"Your point?" She teased him with some lip tongue thing, he looked away.

He reached behind her seat, shifting Luke, and fumbled around with the zipper on his duffle. He pulled out a plain grey sweatshirt—not completely plain, he bit his own lip—and held it up for Ana.

"Here, put this on."

"What?" She took the jacket and remarked at its softness, rubbing it to her cheek. "Thank you, but I don't need it. It's close to 85 degrees outside. I think I'm fine in what I have on."

"Ana, I don't want to argue. But…" She touched his forearm, her soothing touch centered him, and for a moment he reconsidered. "Baby, are you at work now?"

"No…I'm not working. I'm with you. What is it?"

"Then take off the fucking jacket. I'm not going to ask you again."

"Ooh," She smiled—chastened, understanding—then she laughed at him. For the millionth time. "You're funny. Your… the caveman attitude is pretty sweet, I admit. You're a little over the top. I get it. I'll take off the jacket."

"I don't want you to wear anything marking you as their property. Okay?" She looked hurt. And he didn't understand why. When she spoke again, he heard a new voice, one she'd directed toward him before.

"Property? You're one to talk, Christian. You're one to talk." She slowed and lowered her voice. "As if I don't know where we're going."

"Baby, I know you have no idea where we're going. I didn't know until last night. So spare me. And what do you mean I'm one to talk?"

"Who's property are _you_ this weekend?" She was defiant, but her thin murmur made her vulnerable. "Mine? Are you my property?" she begged. "I don't think so."

Incredible! He arranged this whole charade for her. Even so, right now, he wanted to reach out and touch her. She sounded hurt, even though her words were accusatory. "Are you the hospital's? Or or or MSF… Doctors without Borders need their dreamy poster boy to raise some more cash?"

"Ana? Baby, where is all this coming from?"

"Christian, are we going to Washington to see some sleazy politician, or a rights group that wants to exploit Afghanistan? And what you did there? Something that's still so obviously painful for you?"

She put her hand on his shoulder, and he thought he might vibrate out of the cockpit, the combination of her words and the motive behind her touch vaporized any walls left between them. "Christian," she pled, "I appreciate that you're putting on a good face for my benefit, but whatever we are doing, I know it can't be what you really want. Not really."

"Ana…" she tore him down and built him up at once.

"Don't say anything else Christian." She was sweet and comforting again. "I'll take off the _'fucking jacket'_ geez." She tossed her head back on a sniff, to collect herself, to fight back an emotion Christian didn't want her considering. "I liked the color. I think it looks good with my eyes, and I wanted to make you, swoon."

Swoon? "Ana." How many times could he screw up with her before the whole enterprise backfired? Christian looked back to see if Luke had caught their animated exchange, but he was still out.

Ana noticed too.

 **…..**

"Christian, Luke doesn't really look like a cop." He's too pretty, right? Christian knew it was a gamble, lying to Ana about Sawyer. She deserves better. She deserves the truth. But not this weekend. Not yet.

"Really? What does a cop look like?" He focused on his altitude, but rolled his shoulders a little, to look playful and at ease, when he was anything but.

Ana laughed, "I don't know." They flew in silence for a little bit. The morning was perfect, bright sun, cloudless August sky and Ana. "Alright, he doesn't look like a body guard either."

"What do you mean?"

"Sure he's ripped, but he's not _that_ big."

"By ripped, Ana," his voice stung, "I think you mean he looks drunk. Right? Because I don't like the idea of you staring. Fuck! Looking at another man." I'm crazy, that's what she's been doing for the past week. For the past—however fucking long she'd been a goddamn massage therapist.

"You're jealous? Of Luke?"

"Hell yes I'm jealous! You're mine. What Luke Sawyer knows or thinks may be very different from what you and I think. And you! You had enough of your sexy body pressed up against him at the airport. You just met him, for fuck's sake. You had your hands all over him. Just…" He couldn't bind her to him, although that was an appealing thought. "Eyes on me Anastasia."

"Always, Christian. You're beautiful. My eyes will always seek you out."

She swallowed, holding his gaze, and said, "You're beautiful inside and out." At least he thought she said that through the static of their headsets, and he grew uncomfortable, shifting in the confines of his pilot's seat.

"Speaking of pleasing to the eye, baby, look to your right. Over there is Washington DC.

"Hmm… Wow, what a pretty city. But you're not a very good liar."

"Yeah?" this woman. "What do you know about that?"

She looked out the windows again, quiet, like she was thinking about something stirred up by their conversation. "I know enough."

"Ana—"

"It wont matter, you know?" she confessed. At the same time, he said, "I'm afraid I want to blindfold you?"

"What, seriously?" Her eyes popped while her cheeks reddened.

He glanced her way again, his tone testing her interest. "Seriously," he confirmed.

"You can save yourself the trouble, Grey. I know we're going to an airfield, obviously. So that's no surprise." She rubbed her lip between her teeth. "If I were to guess, like I said, it's political. Andrews Air Force Base, maybe. No one goes to Washington for a romantic escape."

"You wound me, goddess." He said. "But we're not going to Washington, we're just flying by. Better get in your last looks, we're passing it quickly."

She swiveled around, "What? Really? We're not going to Washington? But I thought…"

"No, we have a little further to go. Maybe thirty more minutes." Ana grew quiet.

Last night, Christian had shoved a necktie in his bag at the last minute—the Dom in him roused awake, conjuring fantasies of Ana submitting to him over the weekend. He had to focus his aroused mind back down, telling the parts of his brain that itched to engage the dominant aspects of his love making (the parts that wanted to take her to the edge and rescue her back from it), he had to mentally coax those parts of himself to resume their somnambulant state.

He'd grabbed the tie quickly, tucking it in an outside pocket, thinking he might blindfold her as they got closer, to heighten her surprise when she figured out where they were going. But he needn't have packed the tie. Ana's eyes, those dreamy seductive mind-altering eyes, he couldn't cover them up.

Now—even with the hum of the rotors, the whistling wind drag, and his eyes on course, _his Ana,_ live and breathing, sitting beside him in his cockpit—her beautiful blue eyes filled his vision, and every one of his fantasies.

He couldn't imagine ever hiding her eyes. He didn't want to cover their mischief—how they moved over his face when she spoke—even briefly, even for the surprise when she saw where they were going.

Their pale haunting color was mesmerizing. When he'd told her she could sink a thousand ships with those eyes, he may not have realized how accurate he'd been. They were the most unique eyes he'd ever seen. The irises were iridescent, variegated with blue pigments. Centering into her dark pupils, like two crystal pools around an iceberg.

This weekend, he would get lost in those eyes over and over. He was in love with her, without a doubt, for reasons both logical and without proof. And up to now, Ana was an iceberg, a beautiful, majestic towering danger, whose ethereal lightness hid a heavy darkness underneath. He cleared is throat on the thought.

Christian was sure that below the surface of this bewitching creature, who already owned every part of him, was a mysterious complicated woman, full of everything he needed and everything he feared.

The sense of doom and melancholy that clung to the air around him before he met her, seeped away in her presence, hell just thinking about her lifted him… Most of the time… But there were moments, like now—when she started to ask who Luke was—when he had no idea who she was, beyond the crystal clear surface of her.

Beyond the magnetic pull between them, the shallow physical euphoria they experienced together, there was danger and…

He glanced at her as she looked off in the distance, happy, but thinking too hard.

"Ana, you gorgeous girl." She turned her head his way and her grin mirrored his own. She was glassy eyed. "What? What is it, baby?"

"Nothing…"

"Ana," God, he felt a slip. "What is it?"

"Nothing's changed." She licked her lips as she stared at his.

His heart plummeted. What did she mean? _'Nothing's changed.'_ "What does—"

"I mean, you and I… we've been apart, and I—" she swallowed, pressing her top down, smoothing it out over her waist, inhaling. "I feel the same." She beamed. "I feel the same way I did the day I met you. The same way I did when you were feeding me grape leaves. The way I did when you kissed me that first time. When I saw you comforting that family. When you… touched me for the first time. The same as…" she tried to shake off her rising blush and the rest came out in a whisper through his headset. "As when we made love. And you told me how beautiful I was." She was a confessing mess, all doe-eyed and horny at 18,000 feet.

"Ana… Don't fall in love with me."

She bit her lip. "I'll do what I want."

She cocked an eyebrow and bent forward to grab her phone from her bag. She reached over and fingered the hair on his forehead, letting out the cutest little _pfft_ in response to his demand and rolled her eyes.

She held her phone up to take a selfie, and leaned into him while he piloted, deliberately fluffing her hair in his face. "And don't flatter yourself doctor. You're a ton of work." She giggled. He gave up days ago trying to sort through all the physical reactions she stirred within him. He kissed her.

 **…..**

" **What's this?"** He eased the joystick to the left a notch, angling their helicopter down to begin their decent, and revealing their destination. A small airstrip came into view, nestled among a lush green forest below that extended endlessly in every direction. "Look at that… there's a spot for us. It's like we were invited." He grinned. Hoping the effect was cheesy and that he'd pulled it off.

"Where are we, Christian?" He looked at her, and he wanted to weep at her wonder. She hadn't anticipated this, she hadn't expected anything except to be together.

She trusted him. He was immensely… well he thought at first, he was proud of her. But that wasn't the feeling. He felt more at ease, more centered and simply open. Excited to share this small surprise, the ceremony with her. Even if undeserved, he owed it to the other men and women who'd helped him.

As Christian eased the Eurocopter down to the landing spot below, Ana's hands gripped his bicep so hard he winced. He reacted, and even his loud grunt couldn't cover up the huge squeal Ana made when she looked through the massive window at the scene in front of her.

Just beyond their ride, through the pilot's window, was a walkway lined precisely with huge hydrangeas in full bloom in white chippendale planters. That perfectly manicured walkway led to a dozen Naval officers is dress whites, standing at attention. Beyond the officers was a line of gold golf carts, the first bore his name, _Dr. Christian Grey._

What sent Ana over the edge, though, was the view outside her own window. Parked next to them was another helicopter. Well, not really a helicopter. More like… now that they were up close, it looked like a green and white school bus with four blades on top and a tail rotor. Ana read the call letters aloud.

"Christian," Ana's voice was panicked. "Is this… Oh my god." Three marines in dress blues appeared from nowhere to approach their helicopter. The tallest one, they were all pretty tall, held his arm out perpendicular to the ground and made a circular motion for Christian to cut the rotors.

Christian found his own breathing was staggered. He too was overwhelmed. He puffed out a huge breath, relief, disbelief, to empty his lungs and diaphragm. He hugged Ana between his head and shoulder then kissed her temple hard, breathing deeply, taking in the moment. Eventually his mouth settled in a half open grin, and he wagged his tongue back and forth to steady himself, then he powered down the bird and quickly surveyed the instrumentation.

As he took off his headset, he glanced back to Sawyer who was shaking his head in disbelief, even though he was fully aware. He looked stunned, wide-eyed, grinning like the perfect wingman. "Dr. Grey, you are my hero for life."

For a minute, Christian let himself enjoy the energy and emotion as it flooded him. This is real.

Another marine opened the pilot's door. He stuck his face into the cockpit to survey the people inside. He began to instruct everyone.

"Good day sirs, madam. Welcome to Camp David. Please exit the craft and leave your gear. We'll get you situated as quickly as possible."

Christian hopped out, steadied his legs and walked around to Ana's door. He opened it, and kissed Ana soundly, fully. She pulled back slightly when their connection began to veer into lust.

"Christian" Ana whispered her voice catching on something, her head rounding back and forth taking in their surroundings. "Oh, Christian. Why are we here?" She shook her head against his in denial, and her fingers trembled on her lips.

He squeezed her shoulders to soothe her, rubbing, temporarily forgetting to finish undoing her harness. He kissed her over and over. "It's part of the surprise. No questions, baby, we agreed."

Ana nodded and sniffed, not looking at him. She was crying now and she didn't look happy.

Christian frowned at what he perceived to be her disappointment. "Ana, are you alright? We aren't here to fundraise… they're not going to waterboarded us or anything." He offered her a tight smile. "Shhh… shhh, baby" He wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "It'll be fine."

"I'm… fine. This is just very surprising." She shook her head, maybe in shock. She was completely red with emotion and her eyes brimmed with tears. Her chin quivered uncontrollably. "I can't believe it." She hiccuped out. "Christian…" He couldn't hear much, as the din of the rotors finally died away, but he imagined he could hear her heavy swallow.

With her harness off, he scooped her into his arms, and held her tight against him, burying her face against his neck. Her warm tears seared into his skin, marking him in a moment he'd remember the rest of his life.

"Luke, will you make the introductions please? We need a minute."

…..

 _A/N I'm just gonna leave it there…_

 _Oh, boy… this should be fun. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I read and respond to each one._


	27. Chp 27 Red Oak

Hi everyone :) To the guest reviewer who said she hates when Christian and Ana are apart. _Thank you!_ I totally agree. I wish they could be in every scene together. I love their banter and flirting, and their sincere affection for each other. So… I pledge to keep them together as much as possible. Occasionally, I do need to squeak out some plot, and develop character, but I'll try to be reasonable.

Their romance, their devotion, and the pure love between them is why I'm even writing this fanfiction. Well that, and practice. Practice at building suspense and drama. And editing and planning.

Plotwise, since the slow burn is over, and they are together, the mystery can come forward a little more. And there is a lot of mystery left. Maybe even more deaths and a few twists. After this weekend, Christian and Ana are going to have to conspire to figure out how to get her out of her job with the Redskins (or I guess that's my job). But yea, I prefer writing them together as much as possible, or at least on the phone.

May I take moment to thank all the reviewers. xx I love reading your reviews. To the long timers, Thank You so much for sticking with me, and to the new fans, Mwah! It's only getting better. xoxo Mrs Caron

.

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 27 — Camp David: Red Oak**

 _Friday, August 11_

 **She's crying. Why is she crying?** _I pictured excitement. Jumping up and down, rubbing herself against me. Hero worship._

But Christ, his heart ached for her now. He flexed his arms to roll her closer to him.

His normally thrilling beauty had been reduced to sobs, and she was clingy, with a life lock grip around his neck. He was mystified. Was this a woman thing?

He eyed Luke, _Help me out man. Why is she so upset?_

Luke's expression said it all. _I got nothing._ He added an empty shrug and turned back to the marine with the clipboard. Several other servicemen and women waded toward Sawyer.

Christian whispered benign comforts in Ana's ear in an effort to calm her small vibrating body. Maybe it was the surprise, or the whole military thing. He had no fucking clue.

Her grip was so tight, Jesus, he groaned at his powerlessness. Her dead father, her dead father, her dead father. It was on a loop in his head. Only a couple months had passed since he died. She must be devastated. _Great plan, Grey. Bring a grieving general's daughter to a fortified military installation. You're an asshole._

He pivoted on his heels, rocking her, and scanned the scene for a private place nearby where he could—whatever the fuck he was supposed to do— talk some sense into her. They were at Camp David, for fuck's sake. A peaceful mountain retreat. He was getting an award. How was this a dating fail?

Ana shifted again and he sucked in air in an effort to right himself, his thoughts spinning out in fantastic directions.

Did it make him any more of an asshole that he was aroused by the sweet noises that followed her tears? As her sounds and scent wound into his senses, he became aware that most of the crowd around was watching. He turned his head and landed a peck on her cheek. "I'm going to put you down now, okay?"

Ana sniffed and nodded again, a small laugh in her throat, maybe aware of her demeanor. She sagged into him, a little tension released, and Christian was elated at her reflexive need for him.

As she slipped from his grip, he felt a momentary chill. A little pout escaped her mouth, echoing his feeling. She quickly grabbed the waist of his jeans, pulling him back against her again.

Her action forced a shuddered breath from him. "I admit I'm a little off kilter too, sweetheart. I should have told you our plans." He kissed her nose. "A surprise was probably a bad idea, baby."

"It is surprising. Trust me, this is about the last place on earth I ever figured I'd be."

"Ana… Baby." He leaned his head against hers, and cupped the sides of her neck in his strong hands. "Today is a good day, alright? We're… together. I wanted to—"

"I know, and I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm all weepy." Her shaky fingers swiped below her wet lashes. "I think… it's just emotional for me to be with you." She sniffed and offered him a small smile. "And then," she waved her cute little arms up in a cloud of surrender. He zeroed in on the bare skin peeking out below her jacket, and her belt. "All this. It's a lot for a girl to process." A fucking Redskins logo for the buckle.

He kissed her forehead, and bent down to meet her eyes. "I knew you were important, Christian. I just…" She rubbed her lips between her teeth, and squeezed her bottom lip with her fingers in an effort to hold off the fresh wave of tears that started. He couldn't hear what she said next, from the laughing near by.

Behind them, Luke engaged the welcoming party, and he walked with a flank of soldiers toward the exit.

"Ana, this is nothing. It's _nothing_. Do you hear me?" Christian held her shoulders and fixed his eyes on hers.

"Christian, don't say it's nothing. Be honest. You're amazing." She was frustrating.

"I'm amazingly earnest right now Miss Steele." He pulled her hands to his mouth and kissed them, rubbed her shaking fingers against his cheek. "Already… You are everything to me. Everything. And—"

"Christian—" She tried to quiet him.

"I wanted you to know, this is all a show. A pageant. For politicians, and…" he shook off a thought. "I thought this was something I could give you. That you would enjoy." He smiled shyly, tilting his head down, to wait for her response.

"You don't have to give me anything Dr. Grey."

"I beg to differ." She'd given him so much, by showing up. "I've missed you. More than I care to admit. And… you know me," he swallowed that admission down, "you're getting to know me, and… my life, how I live?" Isolated and alone. Solitary. "I want to have so much with you, but I… Ana, I can't see us dining out, or going to movies, like normal couples."

"Christian, I don't understand…"

"I just. Don't. I chose a career where my clients are sedated and unresponsive." She laughed, and kissed a spot at the bottom of his neck.

He cut her off. He didn't know where this confession came from, but he needed to get it out. "Every time we've been together, it's been in my apartment. Or at the hospital. The truth is, I've dreamt of nothing more than finding a flat surface and reacquainting myself with every inch of your delectable body."

"Mmm, yes. That sounds… appealing—"

"I wanted to do something more, give you another—"

"More?" She tilted her head, and paused for effect. "What more could I want than you?"

Christ, she was… "You are amazing, Miss Steele."

"How do you do that?" Her brilliant smile was back, her glassy eyes more sparkle than shame.

"Do what?" He grinned and shrugged, adding an ironic twist of his shoulders to indicate their special surroundings.

"Fix everything. Fix me?" His smile vanished. Was she broken? How could she think he fixed her?

"When I look at you, Ana… when I'm around you. It takes everything in me to hold back. To… remember who I am. My life, how I've lived, what I've done." He kissed her tears away. "When I look at you, it doesn't matter anymore. I think…" She took his hands in hers, grounding him. "Around you, I am myopic. When I'm with you, everything else, every other part of me blurs."

"Myopic. Is that near sighted?"

"Yes, angel. It is. I can only see what's in front of me. You. I only see you, baby. Everything else is a blur."

"Doctor, that is possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. And I think you better keep me around, because it sounds like I'm the only cure for your condition."

"You might want to start a list, baby because I plan to spend," _however long I can keep you_ "a lot of time, administering sweet doses to you."

She ran her tongue over her upper lip then licked her lower lip too. They held each other tightly, letting the exchange seep into their pores, mingle with the private setting, the sun's late morning rays, to stoke a warm buzz between them.

They stayed that way while they listened to Luke wrap up the greetings and shit behind them.

With his hand on top of her hear, Christian pulled Ana back to see her face. "You're alright?" He rubbed her hair, and she snaked out of his grasp.

"No, I'm not all alright." She grabbed his hands and squeezed. "This is Camp freaking David. But I will be."

"Good. Because," he motioned with his chin, "there's a gold golf cart with my name on it. Did you notice that?"

Their hands were laced at their sides. She leaned into his chest shaking her head in the direction of the line of cars, her upturned cheeks rubbed his sternum and he rested his chin on her head.

"I'm dying to get behind the wheel." He admitted.

"You think it'll handle like the R8?" She didn't move, they were content. Hell, Christian would have hung out on the tarmac for hours, just to be with her like this. Easy, simple, at peace.

"I'd like to see."

"Only one way to find out." She challenged him as they walked, arms around each other, down the path toward the golf carts where Luke stood among the group of soldiers exchanging smiles and greetings. A naval officer was speaking when they met up with the rest of the group.

Christian and Ana gazed at each other, faces inches apart, as the young man spoke. "The captain here will be your driver, and point of contact today. Dr. Grey and Miss Steele, you're set up in Red Oak, it's our VIP cabin. You can relax and get ready for the ceremony there" Christian nodded, flashing a devilish grin in Ana's direction. "The kitchen is fully stocked, and a brunch is being set up. Your itinerary, including Camp David customs and policies and a map are there."

Christian saw Ana giggle in his periphery. What's gotten into her? He shot her an accusatory look and she shook him off, mouthing _'later.'_

The officer went on to explain some of the more mundane security measures, most likely in place for dignitaries and intelligence types. "We have a closed loop communication system here for guests. There is a black out over the camp, no incoming or outgoing cell service."

He turned to Luke. "Mr. Sawyer, welcome sir."

"Sir," Luke stepped forward. He was every bit overwhelmed, but he was tight-lipped, trying to pull off his law enforcement angle. The men shook hands. Christian hid a knowing smile.

"You'll be across the way in Hickory Lodge. It's outfitted with more communication equipment. Hickory is also the camp's rec center, with bowling and a theater, video games, and more of our leisure activities. You can liaise with the Secret Service detail. A lot of our law enforcement types get a kick out of that." He winked.

Christian was having a hard time keeping himself centered. A week ago, he was more likely to believe that aliens walked among us than he was to believe he'd be minutes from fucking Ana Steele as a guest of the President of the United States.

But this was his life, and right now, he had his arm slung around his girl's neck and her fingers were laced through his hand at her shoulder.

"Dr. Grey, today's ceremony is at four o'clock. Your steward will be outside to drive you over to Aspen Lodge. He'll go over the protocols and procedures of the ceremony with you at that time." The officer went on to deliver more welcomes and explanations about the retreat. Ana squeezed his hand. "On behalf of the United States Navy, welcome to Camp David."

 **. . .**

Once they reached Red Oak Cabin, Christian and Ana were forced to walk through a tour of their quarters and a monotonous oral history of the camp. Christian kept body parts on Ana throughout the presentation, touching her, leaning in, kissing her head.

He made a point to note all the flat surfaces and the soft ones, as well as the doors and windows. He twice had to quiet his mind from wandering to obscene visions of Ana, overcome by the pleasure he'd be delivering momentarily.

 **. . .**

"He's gone." Ana called over her shoulder as she locked the door. She turned on her toes, already barefoot, to face him. Her face was hot and she was smirking, looking anywhere but at him. She appeared out of breath, and her hair was stuck to the remnants of her orchid lip gloss.

Christian nodded from across the room as he twisted the last blinds close, slipping out of his shoes.

He congratulated himself. He'd been a model of manners and politeness. When in reality, he was very close to losing control, being so near her without a proper reunion. Her sighs and pleas from the Richmond runway were taking up too much space in his head. He needed to act.

For the past hour, as he not only saw but felt Ana's presence, he grew more and more agitated, needing to take. Reclaim her pink mouth, mark her porcelain skin. Press his face in her neck, run his stubble over her sweet scent.

When he refocused on her, she was eye-fucking him. Biting that fucking perfect lip.

Now, they were finally alone.

Christian didn't say a word. He closed the distance to Ana in three strides, flattening her against the door, her body pinned by his. He devoured her mouth, leaving no pink part unmarked. He sucked on her lips and exhaled through his nose, letting his heavy breath coat her face.

He towered over her, skimming his hands across her goose bumped shoulders, then down her slender arms. He brought his hand under her head, grabbing her from ear to jaw, tilting her face to his. She gasped when he when their eyes met.

He bared his teeth before sinking them into her bottom lip. She groaned in relief, and surrendered to him as he kissed her senseless. She bore all his weight, because his need to be on her, and in her drove his hips, his primed groin.

God he needed this. Her. The past few days were a mind fuck. He swallowed their separation, he consumed every sweet moan and hum she offered. Every pass of their tongues, every press of his body to hers, every shutter as their nerves raced up and down with need, fueling his desire.

Her noises were hungry too, needing to get closer. She craved him just as much. This beguiling woman and her perfect body, her soft mouth and pouty sighs had starred in the dreams for days. He was relieved and inspired at once.

Nothing else mattered as he pressed his face against her, kissing her within an inch of her life. He ignored his irrational need for this very real woman, and slipped his fingers through hers, raising her hands above her head.

"Yes," she cried as he trailed kisses down her neck, rocking against her core.

He pulled away, to stare, and calm his restless libido, his thundering heart, his wicked mind.

She freed her hand to reach down and cup him through his pants, run her fingers along his steel length. His whole body seized. He was unmoored kissing Ana, yielding to her. As seconds passed, and this reunion began, he fell deeper and deeper under her spell.

When his emotional vertigo subsided, and he has his body marginally in check, he kissed his way down her neck again.

Ana, his sexy minx, whispered her own demands, her desires. He nodded to each one and hummed his commitment from the back of his throat, his mouth wet and sloppy against her skin.

"I want you, baby, I want to feel you against me." He wrestled her shirt up and moved his fingers over her warm skin, using the right amount of pressure to make her moan.

Ana arched and whined, kissing him back, matching the rhythms of his mouth and tongue.

"Yes… please. I need you." She was on her toes, turned and twisting trying to get closer—although it wasn't physically possible—her own hands were greedy as his.

He backed off half a second, to ease her body higher, until their cores lined up. His fingertips caught on something raised and sharp at her middle. _Oh fuck._

He let her go and looked at her waist, where a dark red leather belt circled her, covered in crystals. It separated her pale creamy skin from her tight jeans. His chest hollowed out as his throat bit back unwelcome emotions.

He backed up, leaving his hands against the wall. He lust-filled eyes were full of warning, pinning Ana in place.

"Ana, I thought we discussed who's property you are." His voice was thick gravel and firm. She peeped out a protest as he went on.

Tugging her forcibly back toward the bedroom somewhere in the center of the cottage, she reached out to delay him, to keep her balance, but Christian had plans. Plans to mold his own body to her curves over and over, kissing and rubbing every aroused inch of her, fucking until the secret service came to find them. _He sure as fuck had a sweet reunion in mind._

But then, her gold and maroon jacket, those too coy smiles she and Luke shared. It was too much. These new sensations, the burn and tingle of her proximity—how could he not want to extinguish them, contain her? Posses her?

He was a ball of fury—and until she took off all these fucking symbols of what everyone else got to sample, while he went out of his mind across the country—Fuck if he could clear his mind to remember where they were.

Her voice was his undoing. "Chris—" He spun her around so she was facing away, and crushed his body over hers.

"I've had more than I can take, Ana." Her ear was close enough to touch his lips and he jerked an arm around her. Stooping, he pressed his erection into her ass and ground as hard as he could, hips and thighs flexing, pulling her against him. Even as her hand reached back to hold his wrist—to temper him—he tugged her hair, balled up in his fist, binding her to him.

"I'm a very patient man. But if you spend another minute covering your tight, fuckable body—the body I've been imagining—under me and over me as I get off on your pleasure. Moaning my name. Kissing my face. This body." He bounced against her and tugged on her belt, "in someone else's property… I'm going to lose my fucking mind." She whimpered.

"Lose." He nipped her ear. "The belt." He bit her neck, before stepping back as she turned to face him.

"Christian…" her soft moan begged. _I miss you on me, it said._ Fuck he was coming undone, he couldn't look at her.

He shook off her plea, his eyes glued to the red _'R'_ on her buckle. Maybe they needed a moment, but he was unrelenting. Their breathing was loud and labored.

"This belt is a fucking nuisance, Miss Steele. Did you know that?"

"What?"

"Take it off." He couldn't catch his breath.

Then he caught sight as Ana's gaze fogged over. Christian sighed, letting his hold over the moment slip. He hovered over her and sucked on her bottom lip, pushing himself against her stomach. Fuck, he was painfully hard.

He scanned Ana's face. Her flushed wet cheeks puffed in and out, as a slight smile touched his lips. "Take it off. Now."

When he heard the sound of her unclasping her belt, he pictured her plump round ass striped pink. _You jerk._ He stepped away. Conflicted. His fingertips tingled to touch and take, but a new possessive side— jealousy—wanted to mark her.

"I'm scared."

His eyed popped and his own breath hitched.

Christian closed the small distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders, pressing his thumb at the base of her neck. Her pulse was erratic. He sucked the bow of her mouth between his lips and let it go on a pop.

"Goddess... don't be." He pulled her against him, pressing his cheek into her crown. "I'm about to worship you."

She moved her face over his sternum. He felt her swallow against his chest, and the image of her desire, her saliva, all of her juices running down her throat—fuck he had to taste her.

He was mad with desire, and pulled her mouth to his. It was only another kiss for fuck's sake, but he was spiraling. Already so desperate. He was sure he'd injure her with how deeply he stroked his tongue, how much his jaw danced in rhythm with hers. Every part of him melted against her small sexy body.

God, she made him work for it, like she had her own agenda with this kiss.

They'd moved back to the wall, needing the strong surface to hold them up, to keep them from falling in every way.

His hands kneaded the plump swell at her hips, then he snaked his way down her legs, kneeling in front of her.

She slipped the belt through the loops, a clipped sound that threatened to break their connection. Christian took over disrobing her, and in one smooth motion, her jeans were below her knees.

" _Baby."_ He savored the sight. Her panties were soaked dark, her perfect lips outlined in the silk. He leaned his cheek against her mound, his eyes closed, her scent was intoxicating. He was high and so fucking turned on.

Panting, he traced his fingers slowly up the inside of her thighs.

"I've missed you Ana. I only had a day to explore this body." Her chest shivered out breaths as she reached down to rhythmically run her hands through his hair.

He looked up to catch her smoldering eyes gazing down while he licked his lips. She shifted at the sight, and he heard the faintest squelch by his face. She was so slick and moist. His thick shaft was painful, ready to explode.

He rubbed the back of three fingers against the fabric, pressing into her seam. She was such a woman, her feminine scent, her warm flesh, all for his delight.

"The ceremony." He rubbed his tongue along the sides of her panties, down one side and up the other.

"Ahh," she mumbled a half sentence.

"Ana?"

"What? Yes. The ceremony. Mhmm…"

"How long do you need to get ready."

"What?"

"To get dressed. How long do you need?" He pushed his thumb up against her nub.

"I don't know. Oh, god. Please"

"Shhh goddess… I've got you." He slip two fingers inside her. She was fucking drenched. Her walls tightened around him, and his cock grew.

"I can't talk right now."

"How many minutes do you need to get ready for the ceremony baby?" He kissed across her, from one hip to the other.

"20," she blurt out, "minutes." He smiled against her slack body.

"Mmm. Plenty of time."

He slid her panties past her knees, then pushed a finger through her folds while he looked up at her gorgeous flush face. They moaned together. He moved his hand between her leg, running it over her clit, front to back, missing no part of her flesh, stimulating her, drawing her out.

"Did you miss this?" he bit out, his voice hoarse and stilted.

"Yes. I did," she hissed as stroked her. She pressed herself into his hand, pumping her hips.

He moved his head between her legs, parting them to taste her. She dipped onto his flat tongue, and whimpered out, barely a half sentence. He twisted three fingers inside her, and she rocked.

Christian blew warm air across her center, then hooked her leg over his shoulder, exposing her to him. "So pretty." He rubbed his nose across her swollen wet flesh, and fucked her with his mouth and fingers.

Ana arched and shuddered wildly against him, and he reached a hand up to press on her sternum, holding her against the wall. He skated a wet finger across her chest, grazing her lace-clad nipple, her heated skin was warm enough to force another deep sigh in his body.

He gave her a long stroke with his tongue, and she curved against his face.

"Greedy girl."

"I want you."

"Soon. You're so beautiful like this."

"Fuck I love how you get so worked up, baby." He confessed.

"You…" she concentrated, staring into his eyes, most of his face hidden below her writhing body. "You're on your knees, but I feel like you're controlling me." He nodded against her, his hum sending vibrations just where he wanted. "God I can't take it Christian. Please, I need—"

"I know what you need. And you're going to give it to me first." His eyes tried to convey what her surrender meant to him, by turning herself over like this, but he too worked up, to full of need and her taste was catnip. His tongue danced around her entrance, and she clenched as his fingers found a sweet spot. His lips sucked on her sweet bud as it grew and grew, swirling her need into a orgasm. Her pretty face was deep pink, wound up in concentration. Then she came, arching and twirling.

When she detonated, he couldn't hear himself think past her roar of emotion and pleasure. She was mewling and quaking like a kitten who needed more of her master's touch. He savored every taste, every sound, as she covered his mouth and chin.

He dug his fingers intp her ass cheeks, and groaned against her hot flesh. He stared at her, watching her mouth twist in pleasure. Fucking incredible.

 **. . .**

After her climax had dissipated—her skin still flush, her movements more fluid—he squeezed her hips in his hands, and spoke against her thigh. "I love how your body reacts to me. It makes me want to stroke you like that for hours, baby."

Ana let out a vowel-laced curse, and bucked her hips again, almost desperate for more. Her body swayed, still unsteady from her mind-blowing orgasm. She was spellbound. And magnificent.

He looked up her body, his hands gripping her elbows. And he placed an almost effortless kiss to her center. Christian rose and kissed around the side of her face, tugging at her earlobe.

Laughter began to bubble up in her chest, as she looked around, examined herself, her disheveled appearance. They were still standing in the front of the cabin. Apart from the low whir of the air conditioning, their heavy breathes were the only sounds.

Ana, finally cognizant enough to stand on her own, pushed him back. "No, Christian."

"Baby—"

"My shirt." She whipped it over her head and offered him a sultry voice to match her bedroom eyes. "I think it's branded too." She stayed leaning against the wall, he'd exhausted her. But she was undeterred, some game on her mind. She curved her neck away from him, her mouth half open, wanton, sexy.

"And my bra." She rubbed her thumbs over her nipples where they were peaking under the black lace.

Christian gawked.

"It's NFL property." With a clarity of movement, she removed the sexy bra, and stood naked before him.

He was still fully dressed, and her nudity, her fucking raw sensuality, sent a whip of desire through him, echoing out from his core, exploding in his chest.

She wasn't flustered, she was ablaze.

She was sex.

Her almost wicked _pinkness_ said ' _fuck me,'_ but her vulnerability screamed _love_. _Love. Me._ He wanted to weep, but his face was immobile, fearing the perfect creature might evaporate if he moved.

"Cat got your tongue, Dr. Grey?" She shimmied. It was erotic, and Christian's knees almost buckled. "No one gets this, Christian." She circled her sides and hips, catching on the little mark over her ribs. "Only you. You're the only one."

Her shy smile made his skin crawl. To touch and be touched like this, he ached for her to give him some sign of permanence. Realness. Her eyes danced with pleasure, as he took her in. He sighed and prayed to God he'd remember this moment for the rest of his life.

He covered his heart with his hand, so overwhelmed at her gesture. He reached for her and held her face in his hands, pressing him thumbs into the corners of her mouth, his palms cupping her jaw. Her slender fingers rose to hold his wrists. With hearts beating wildly, they stood together.

In a sweet move, that sent an avalanche of affection from his ears to the base of his spine, she moved her feet onto his, to stand taller, to get closer.

"You are so goddamn beautiful, Ana. It hurts to look at you."

"And you…" She slid a lock of hair from his brow.

"Ana—"

"Put your hands in your pockets." What? I'm about to fuck her. Her face was twisted in true concentration. It was so out of character, he wanted to laugh, but caught himself. He hadn't moved.

He was mesmerized. Her heaving chest that brushed against him, the feminine curve of her waist, the slippery triangle between her legs that called to him. None of those features though, compared to _her_. Her overtness, her nudity, her vulnerable demands. She was baring her soul.

"Ana, what—"

"Hands in your pockets, doctor." She was serious.

"Ana."

"We aren't going to start with this 'Ana' business again are we?" Her blue eyes were like lasers.

"You're driving me crazy," he kissed her hard. She twisted his shirt in her hand and pushed him off. Their mouths separated in a desperate pop.

She wiped her mouth with the hand. "Maybe I am, but please." She eyeballed his hands, raising her eyebrows.

"Fine."

"Fine." Except her 'fine' was an invitation to mischief. What the fuck was she doing?

She leaned up and grabbed the collar of Christian's shirt, tipping him, pulling his neck toward her face. "Just as I thought," she teased, talking under her breath, her lips brushing his earlobe.

As though she was sharing a secret, she whispered, "it looks like your shirt is their property too." Her teeth grazed his jaw, even as she made no effort to release him from her grip. Her mouth moved to his collar bone. "We better lose it."

She licked his neck. "Just in case." And with that, she tipped her head up to reveal her smirk. Oh my fucking god, she's going to destroy me before I've even had her. Christian was in heaven. What was this?

Her hands dipped slowly down his torso, her sure fingers running Grooves of Ana into his body. She used just the right amount of pressure, and curled her fingers under the hem of his shirt, touching his skin.

Christian couldn't hold back his low groan—although he wasn't sure it was audible. It was hard to hear over his own thundering heartbeat. If his ribs didn't fucking fracture, he'd be shocked. He was shaking. He was so hers in this moment, so fucking owned by this small angel. _Who the fuck was she? Where did she come from? She better fucking stay exactly where she was._

Ana dragged his shirt halfway up, then her beaded nipples and her chest pressed into him, where his core was roiling in wave after wave of anticipation.

He dispensed with his shirt and kissed her forehead. Slaking his urgent need to get his lips on her, any action to seize back control. His body was misfiring, his libido fought with his heart.

Her soft body was the balm all of it. She owned him by being. Every inch of him. In tune with her.

The skin against skin, it was electric and all his senses engaged. The soft sound of their warm bodies rubbing together was it's own drug and sent his systems spinning, but he stayed upright. The sweet taste of her neck, her shoulders, only made him thirsty for more.

And the smell of her… Sweet Jesus, the smell that lingered in the skin by her ear, her shampoo faintly mixed with her own intoxicating scent—he scraped his teeth across her nape, marking her so his own scent would mingle with her fresh innocence.

He leaned over to suck on her pink bubble gum nipple, then pulled back. He circled the wet skin there until the peak pearled even tighter. She arched against him as he slathered her other nipple with the same attention.

He couldn't help it, he knelt down and swiped his tongue along her entrance again. "Ahh," Ana winced forward, she was so sensitive, nearly toppling over him.

He grabbed her elbows and pulled himself to standing. They were both grinning.

She dipped her fingers into his waistband and quietly teased, "I'm pretty sure these don't belong to you either." She was claiming him. He was Ana's fucking property.

"Baby, you're killing me."

"That's the plan." She licked her lips, top then bottom, then the flat disc of his nipples as she undid his belt. He felt her lips mouthing _"mine"_ over his heart, as she rested her forehead against his sternum.

Christian Grey, trembled with need and love, and a passion to kiss and claim this woman. First things first. In moments his pants were at his feet.

He barely managed to free his hard length before he had Ana pushed back against the door, their mouths twisting in a lover's kiss, a prelude to the complete connection they were about to make.

He was so hard and heavy against her belly. She moaned with satisfaction and took his length in her hands.

Her touch was a ripcord. Once pulled, he was high and floating. Her touch him back to a weightless place, everywhere around she held him suspended. Ana's little foreplay was torture, and he was ready to sink into her.

"Ana, you overwhelm me." She purred her agreement. His hands came up to hold her hips—where he needed to sway against her… to press himself into her space.

He wanted to live in this minute for as long as he could. They became a flurry of arms and mouths, chins and hands, touching every dimple and curve, every freckle and scar.

 _Fucking Christ!_ He'd forgotten about his scars.

"God Ana, what you do to me."

"Christian," she begged over his loud kisses, the friction of their skin. "Take me. Please, make love to me."

He looped a strong arm around her waist and pressed her flush against the wall with his body. Her legs slid behind him, gripping his hips. The backs of her legs were sticky and warm against him. Perfect.

He pushed two fingers through her seam to get her back to her slickness, she hummed and once more mouthed _please_ against his shoulder.

They cried out in unison, as he eased himself inside her, just his head, to give her a moment to adjust. Then slowly, he inched into her channel, kissing her, loving her. And in two long strokes, they were one.

With their foreheads pressed together, looking down to their connection, they lost themselves to each other. Their blended, almost primal sounds took over.

Ana's gorgeous hair was wild and he brushed it off her mouth and splayed his shaking hands across her cheek and neck, absorbing her, possessing her. He dragged his stubble across her face, marking her, loving her.

"Can you feel it? This connection between us?"

Her hoarse confession said yes, as the walls beside them shook, Christian's setting a necessary rhythm. She was too much woman, he had no chance to go slow and survive. He laughed and nipped the top of her breast.

He moved his hands down to her thighs and sank his thumbs into the divots just below her hip bones. They fit him perfectly. He effortlessly guided her body slowly, as he slid out of her, enough to feel the friction but not enough to I miss her, and then he thrust back in, fucking her hard against the wall. Their eyes closed tightly and they kissed through his strokes.

Ana clutched her hands together at the back of his neck, her forearms against his strong shoulders, and rode Christian, taking everything he gave her.

He was consumed. Literally and figuratively consumed by her.

"Fuck Ana, I can't take it slow. I can't. I'm not going to last."

"What?" She was heaving, her hair was a mess over her face. She looked up, "why not, she whined, and pulled her hair from the remains of the orchid lipgloss smeared across her face.

He chuckled low in his belly. This woman.

"Ana, you make me feel…" he huffed and pumped, caught in the beauty of their connection. So much. Even now." He was panting. "With your taste on my lips, I have to break away." His body was in charging, swiveling and thrusting, satisfying them both.

But…"

"You greedy girl. But what?" He pulled her thighs tighter against his hips, forcing himself even deeper, She bit her lip and arched her back into him, forcing a new guttural groan to her lips.

"You have so many sinful sounds, baby."

He is acutely aware of this moment. This warm current of love that passed between them. Their hot slick bodies, their stifled breaths. It didn't matter. The lack of air seemed to mean nothing. He was whole with her, even if it was a suffocating connection.

This, what was passing between him, it was an intimacy he'd never known in his thirty-three years. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced. He only knew there were no warnings or alarms worth heeding. She simply was everything. And she was his.

Ana bit his shoulder when she came again, then rested her cheek on his shoulder. As he chased his own climax, his piqued senses were aware how quiet the universe had become, how the world slowed down, and it was only them.

No drug had ever produced this high. His fix was all Ana. Ana Steele. Even the sound of their naked bodies against one anther was intoxicating. He was higher than he'd ever been. As his climax approached, he buried his face in her wet neck, softly calling out, "Mine, mine, mine."

How could he ever give up a feeling like this?

She was too much.

Then he found his release.

.

 _ **Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**_


	28. Chp 28 The Ceremony

Massive thank you to the most awesome mllezeau for reading the President's speech. Blame her if it's snoozeville lol.

.

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 28 — Camp David: The Ceremony**

 _Friday, August 11_

"Ana, it's time to get ready baby." Christian rocked her hip in his large hand, then rose from the bed. He crossed the room, opening his duffle.

"Do I have to?" Ana whined. She hadn't moved from where she was recovering, following their thorough reacquaintance—and christening of Red Oak. Her whole body glistened.

She was perched on her elbows. Staring. He felt her blue eyes raking over him, taking him in as he moved through the bedroom naked. She mouthed a filthy affirmation. And looked to the heavens.

"Like what you see?"

"Pfft," she shrugged, as he bolted back to her.

"I think I misheard you, Ana. What did you say?" he tickled her over her shrieks, followed by their mingled laughter.

She reached out to hold the growing shaft between his legs. "I said _pffffffft_."

"Ha, you're lying." He nipped her chin, then licked her nipple.

"Ahh…" They fell together on the bed, breathing deeply, almost panting, wrapped up in relaxed intimacy.

Ana lay there looking up at him, biting her bottom lip. She giggled once more, then steadied her breathing. "No, I didn't mean it. I love your _'Red Oak.'_ " She squeezed him. Her whole face contorted, trying to prevent the huge belly laugh she was obviously holding back.

He tickled her sides then, forcing her to release her grip of his aroused member. He groaned at the separation.

"Shower. Now sweetheart. Go. I don't want any other assholes, especially Sawyer, getting even a drift of your tempting scent." He spanked her right cheek as she scooted off the bed.

She said "ouch," but the sound from the bottom of her throat made it sound more like 'oh yes.'

"You liked that, baby?"

"Are you coming doctor?" He had a sex-laced comeback ready, but calmed himself, overwhelmed by her proximity and her beauty. His fucking life wasn't so fucked anymore.

"Be ready goddess."

 **. . .**

When he joined her in the shower, he carefully cleaned her from head to toe, ridding her of any last traces of the training camp.

He was working out how to keep her from ever returning there as he cleaned her fingers. Slowly, carefully taking each digit fully in his mouth down to the web, suckling the knuckles between his tongue and lips.

Her close concentration on his mouth, her slack-jawed wet face, spiked with need as he torqued her nipples and she ground her wet center against his thigh.

His spell was momentarily broken, when he leaned over her to grab the shampoo, but she denied him, twisting her long locks up in a knot, saying it would take forever to dry. Which was fine, because it gave him more time to indulge in a week's worth of fantasies.

He raised her by her waist and moved to the corner of the shower. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he pinned her to the wall. "Thank you for coming Ana." She contracted her thighs around him, in response.

He held her eyes in his, grey to blue, and kissed her mouth softly. Watching her close her eyes to the feeling, her willing submission, the energy she passed to him in that simple reflex—Jesus he lost his breath.

With his fingers pressed deeply, cupping her bottom, he slid himself in, owning her, reaching the end of her in three deep strokes. At first, Ana concentrated her attention where they were joined. She was arching and clenching, drawing Christian deeper under her own soft warm grip. They both slipped under the spell their bodies wove together. But he kissed her eyelids while he stroked inside her, then grunted, and her pale eyes found his again. They never broke their stare, and he stilled as moments passed, holding her there, while he was wrapped inside her. The spray of water made an irregular sound as it hit their bodies and the tiles. Ana brushed his hair from his face, before knotting her fingers at the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and found a rhythm, her shuddering sighs his melody.

* * *

 **The Ceremony**

A naval officer knocked on their cabin door at precisely 4pm. The purpose of their visit was beginning. Being at Camp David—the rustic surroundings and natural stillness—made the whole affair formal and oddly casual at the same time.

How much pomp could be squeezed into a golf cart with gold vinyl cushions and large letters announcing that they were riding in 'Christian Grey's' car? Everyone was quiet on the way over, the only sound the whir of the electric cart.

Ana, Christian and Luke were ushered through the front entrance of Aspen Lodge, in the heart of cabin village. Two secret service agents in shorts greeted them. They passed a pair of marines, and found themselves standing in the middle of a low hallway.

The campy vacation vibes, the feeling in the cramped musty space was akin to being in a small town bed and breakfast, maybe in South Carolina, waiting for someone's aunt to locate a deck of cards, or serve lemonade. There were no visual clues or atmospheric attitudes that they were in fact a rock's toss away from the President of the United States, hanging out at the weekend retreat of the most powerful person in the world. And the first woman president in history. Ana kept reminding their party of this incredible fact.

Christian squeezed Ana's hand and she squeezed back. Not to be outdone, Christian squeezed again adding a little arpeggio with his fingertips. They stared each other down, lust and love zigging between them, as they dueled out their affection through their hands. Luke hung back checking his phone and taking pictures.

A happy Southern man overdressed for the mountains shook their hands and introduced himself with a welcoming demeanor and a thick Kentucky accent. "Thank you for coming. We're thrilled y'all are here. Absolutely no photographs of anyone on the grounds. Enjoy yourselves." His name was Bennett, for the record.

Bennett pushed through a door to their left and they entered a brightly lit room. While it maintained the camp's cozy retreat aura, in reality, it was a toned down, causal replica of the White House East Room. The room was furnished for ceremonies, with a few chairs in the center, a podium or dais at the front and a bank of video recorders and cameras.

The walls were jammed with photographs of past presidents visiting Camp David, and there were thick fabric curtains, depicting hunting scenes, and the kinds of animals rich people hung out with. Dogs and horses and cute foxes.

Two men, clearly politicians, and several staff milled about.

Ana audibly smiled and tucked herself under Christian's arm. He hugged her as she curled her hand around to the small of his back where she held on to his belt.

He kissed the top of her head. Then pushed his nose through her hair, mouthing against her ear, "Thank you for being here baby."

Bennett was talking again, describing the events of the next few minutes.

Christian felt attached in that moment, in a way he'd never felt in his life. _Ana_. She was his and he was hers.

Was it possible that everyday could be this bright? And what about his nights, his awful memories and the sleepy, semi-comatose life he'd spent years curating, building between heartbeats? The nights that pulled him away from this… this waking life he'd allowed himself to feel today? It was impossible to imagine going back to that.

"Ana, I have to tell you something…"

A flurry of activity across the room drew their attention.

"Madam president." An usher announced. He studied Ana, who looked more like a fangirl at a boyband concert, having her eighth out of body experience for the day. Christian smirked, feeling a little cocky about their private performance. And there was Luke, leaning forward looking over her shoulder, grinning, with his movie star good looks on full tilt. Sober fucker.

The French doors opened and the President of the United States, Michelle Obama, strode in.

Apart from vividly imagining over and over what it might be like to meet the most powerful… _woman_ in the world, nothing could prepare you for meeting the President of the United States.

'Reasonable Awe.' That's what Christian thought seeing this imposing, brilliant woman walk briefly across the room. She flowed, with a smart smile and relaxed air in her wake. For a few seconds, Christian allowed himself to be proud to be an American. To consider this historic moment in his life, outside who he was, beyond his own personal life. He was incredibly inspired and humbled that Michelle Obama represented him and every other American.

He laced both hands in Ana's, pulling her sideways against him. And maybe that was a mistake. Because he was flooded with a tight braid of conflicting emotions, like coils shifting inside, wound with regret and resignation, euphoria and glee.

Fuck this was happening, good or bad. There was no going back. Christian was suspended between the world's most powerful woman, and the woman who could bring him to his knees.

Luke clapped Christian on the back, and the strength of his hand grounded him. There was no going back. He thought of Elliot and his entreaties to live, to slip beyond the bounds of his shame, to embrace what was possible. Christian couldn't fight his own grin, and when he looked up, the President matched him. Nodding.

Her glide and physical closeness drew all the oxygen to her. She was beautiful, of course she was beautiful, but she was tall and imposing. Were she a man, Christian might never have noticed, but since she was all woman, her elegance and simply caught him off-guard. He stood taller, more erect. Her smile filled her face, shiny white teeth, and rosy round cheeks that sat over disarming dimples.

The President nodded to the Congressmen, and after a brief hesitation—yea yea even the President thought Christian was attractive—she acknowledged him and his party of two, with a knowing smile.

"Welcome, everybody. Please have a seat." There were six chairs set across two rows. Each was quickly occupied. Christian's group sat in front, Ana in the middle, along with Luke who sat on Ana's right. They were joined in the second row by Senator Winfield, Congressman DeSilva from Washington, and a young woman who looked vaguely like the President's oldest daughter, Malia. She smiled at Christian then Sawyer, her face spreading into a huge grin when she and Luke met eyes.

Behind the President, were two ushers, standing straight as the flags that flanked them. To the audience's right and in the back, against the walls, were photographers and two cameramen.

The President looked over her papers, nodded to Christian, a soft genuine welcome, and began her speech.

 **. . .**

"It is a great pleasure to be here today with Dr. Christian Grey, his family, and his representatives from the state of Washington." Her smile for effect, and stole all the air from the room.

"Dr. Grey has been awarded every international humanitarian award out there for his wartime heroics in Afghanistan, as a member of Doctors Without Borders. But we've never been able to get him to come into town to pick up a piece of our own hardware.

"So, I'm glad we could finally convince him to take a day off," everyone laughed, "to accept our nation's second-highest citizen award, the Presidential Citizen's Medal.

"The Citizen's medal is an award that's very special to me. Because it recognizes every day Americans _'who have performed exemplary deeds or services for his or her country or fellow citizens.'"_

Her cadence was mesmerizing, her presence consuming. Christian forgot that he was the object of attention as the President spoke, he was caught up in her delivery.

"Let me open this ceremony by saying that we honor you, Dr. Grey. _Christian_. We celebrate you." The President moved her hair to the side and shifted on her feet. The whole ceremony felt so intimate, she was a gifted speaker, yet her laid back, motherly demeanor pulled everyone in. "And, most of all, we have a chance to say thank you. Because you are what the rest of us aspire to be.

"We are all aware of the tragic events that early morning in Kunduz, Afghanistan in 2009. The loss of life, the unbearable toll borne by Doctors Without Borders. Yet there, in the middle of a raging inferno, Christian chose to save life, beyond the calling of his medical training."

Christian looked sheepishly at Ana. He hoped this was the right call, dragging her this deeply into his life and the fucked up choices he'd made.

"Dr. Grey—when he showed up for work that day, he expected a day like any other. Doing what was right for his patients; spending a hot morning healing the diseased and injured, and inspiring other workers to do the same—he had no idea that a misguided airstrike was about to bomb his hospital, killing his colleagues, and countless patients and even injuring himself.

"And when hell rained down, he could have taken shelter, as he instructed others. He could have focused on his own safety, on his own well being. But he didn't.

"No. Christian didn't do any of those things. He gave everything he had that day. He made a brave decision. He chose to save and protect those precious, anonymous citizens under his care. He gave everything but his life, for the most innocent and helpless among us.

"We don't need to get into all the geopolitical back and forth about collateral damage. About who was really seeking shelter in a protected medical facility." She motioned her hands back and forth dismissively, her tone tired of the diplomacy. "Taliban. Gangs. Military intelligence agents. Dr. Grey didn't care.

"He could have chosen to do nothing. Instead, he chose to help," the President intoned.

"The right choice is rarely the easy one," she added and paused. She found Christian's eyes, and her head tilted while they looked at each other holding one another's stare—he, out of deference and humility, she, out of understanding and respect.

The President's eyes scraped over Christian's face, and in her slow perusal, she told him so much more. _She knew._ She knew what he'd done. She was aware of his whole story. And she was telling him he made the right choice. "The right choice is rarely the easy one." Christian winced, and grasped Ana's hand tighter. He was shaking, fighting back emotions he'd bridled for almost a decade.

"And that's what we honor today—the courageous heart, the selfless spirit, the inspiring actions of Dr. Christian Grey, an extraordinary American."

Ana was fighting emotion too, her face buried into Christian's neck. Luke's arm was draped across her, as he reached over to grip Christian's shoulder. Christian was humbled and the realness of the moment shocked his system with a vibrating calm, a clarity of life.

He laughed for a minute, thinking Grace is going to kill me. He wiped moisture from his eye. Then his levity was gone, as he listened to President Michelle Obama tell him he was worthy.

"What makes Dr. Grey a uniquely American citizen—what makes him special—is the determination he had to step forward when others were suffering, and he took it upon himself to BE the difference," the President went on.

"His life stands as a shining example of what it means to be an American. And today, we have an opportunity to tell his story, to say thank you, and to offer him a small token of our appreciation.

"By giving everything but his life, by saving over five hundred people, Christian demonstrated the enduring American values of sacrifice and kindness." She paused, and smiled down on them.

"So I want to say thank you to you, Christian Grey, for your extraordinary and inspiring American story. We could not be prouder to know you and honor you with this award."

 **. . .**

There was small applause and everyone stood as the usher handed a blue velvet box to the President.

Christian stepped forward and shook the President's hand. "Madame President," he nodded.

She took a half step back. "After what you did? You can call me Michelle," she replied.

He offered her a shy smile. Then he turned slightly toward the cameras, and bowed as instructed.

The President placed the medal around his neck. It was suspended on a silk ribbon, dark blue with a light blue center and white edges. She indicated the back was engraved, but he should inspect it. "It's an honor to meet you," she added. She held his hand in both of hers as she smiled for another photo.

He stared at Ana the whole time, the corners of her mouth betraying her nerves, but she managed to avoid the waterworks from earlier. He smirked and exhaled, pleased with his decision to come, to expose another part of himself to Ana, and finally accept… _this award._

The atmosphere, the moment, was incredible. Flashes were going off, as the two cameramen moved forward from the eaves.

An usher's voice came from nearby explaining the details of the medal. "The medal's design is based on the Seal of the President of the United States. The head is a gilt eagle surrounded by an enamel wreath of leaves. The back is engraved to commemorate this ceremony and the recipient."

President Obama chimed in. "Now don't be putting this in the back of the closet, doctor." She winked. Ana made a small noise, and wrapped her palm around Christian's bicep. More cameras flashed.

Christian looked at Ana and caught her staring, her pretty mouth slightly agog. He tried to maintain a solemn face, which proved difficult. His skin pricked with tumult, even satisfaction and pride.

He'd pleased Ana. Her expression was full of joy and acceptance. He did that. He put that smile on her face. He'd take the win. _Goddamn he felt good._

His attention turned back to the President. "Christian, I want you to know how much your work, and the team you've put together… how much we appreciate it. In this divisive atmosphere, it's difficult to get the kind of publicity Doctors Without Borders needs. But when our American citizens put themselves in harm's way as you." She looked sincere as her face morphed from surprise to respect. "I am in awe, and want to do everything we can to encourage your success."

"Thank you Madame President—"

"Michelle, please." She was still shaking his hand as she cut him off.

"What I can't understand is why you don't want the publicity your organization, and your incredibly heroic act warrants." She looked at him with sincerity, even nodding in Ana's direction conspiratorially. "I don't know, it's your choice, right? Up to you." She stepped to the side, and encouraged the entire group to pose for the photographer.

The President extended her hand to Ana, while Christian introduced her. "Wonderful, Miss Steele. You've got yourself a super hero in real life." Ana was speechless, and Christian had to bite his lip to keep from spoiling the moment with a lewd rejoinder. _Remember where you are Grey._

President Obama briefly acknowledged Luke Sawyer who was talking to Malia Obama. She gave Christian a deadpan I-know-all-about-your-charade smirk, but I'm gonna play along because I like you.

Once beside him again, she whispered in his ear, "These photos are embargoed until the murder investigation is wrapped up." She and he exchanged nods. "We were sorry to hear you've been caught up in it." A wave of shame filled his throat as Leila's cold corpse flashed through his mind. "I know what it's like to be accused of something when you're innocent. Best of luck. We're watching from here."

Her words made his cringe. It was too surreal. _This fucking day._ The whole fucking month since he'd met Ana.

The President stepped around their trio and acknowledged the Senator and Congressman. They spoke for a few minutes, and Christian shook their hands too.

Another aide approached President Obama with deference to whisper in her ear.

"Yes," she agreed in a clipped tone, then turned back to her guests. "Christian, our camp's invitation was for you and your guests to attend this ceremony. That was your only official obligation. However, we are also hosting the French diplomats this weekend. Fabrice Moreau, the French Ambassador and his wife are coming to dinner. You and Ms. Steele and Mr. Sawyer are welcome to join us."

Christian blushed, sensing more of an entreaty from the beautiful president than a simple invitation.

"We have plenty of room and the food will be fantastic." She was charming them. "They're French, you know," and her familiarity was such a contrast to the formal ceremony they'd just witnessed. "Senator Winfield and his wife will be there, as will my husband, Barack. He's always fun." She winked again and touched her ear. Christian caught it.

She leaned in, their shoulders touching. "I'm certain your charity, Doctors Without Borders will come up. The French founded it, right? Join us. Please." Christian looked to Ana. She smiled with glee, but her eyes scrutinized at the President. "It's entirely up to you. But please enjoy yourselves. From what I understand, your cabins are yours until Sunday. I'm only offering, but face it: The United States Government is encouraging you to spend the night."

The President's smile brokered no argument. They were staying for the weekend.

* * *

Two minutes later, Ana and Christian were alone, reveling in the outrageous events of the day. They were tucked into a private garden behind Aspen Lodge—a large outdoor space, a tiny replica of the more formal White House Rose Garden. They were quiet, each caught up in the ceremony, the enormity of the setting, Michelle Obama's incredible presence. Wow…

The vast yard around them had such a genteel feel of rest and richness. It was a beautiful space, green layered upon green, framed by small white pillars and moldings. There were large oak trees shading the late afternoon sun. Christian thought Ana looked almost angelic, as the sun's rays slipped through behind her head. She wore a halo's glow around her face.

He wound his arms around Ana's tiny waist and held her close. This was all so new, it hadn't even been a week, since he'd been comfortable enough to hold her against his body. As they gently rocked together, she fingered the medal around his neck, while his busy mind was inventing excuses to keep her there for as long as possible.

A marine approached and offered to take their picture. They looked at each other. _No thank you,_ neither needed a photograph to commemorate what was happening.

Ana eyed the private up and down in his dress blues. She looked dazed. And Christian's heart broke a little for her. He didn't know what branch of the military her dad had served in—question one hundred forty-three on his "Get to Know Ana" list—but he wanted to absorb all her unease. He pulled her against him.

Today was therapeutic. Not because he had Michelle Obama's forgiveness, or that he'd been honored. It wasn't even that they were in such an historic location.

He'd felt joy and sorrow with Ana. For Ana. It was… as Elliot had said, bliss.

Christian realized that the life he'd known before Ana was behind him. And that ahead of him lay possibility.

This little spitfire had turned his world upside down. And it was true, as he'd told her. There was no life he could lead where he'd be worthy of her, but he wanted to try to be what she needed. Because _she_ was what he needed. He was ready to reveal the rest of himself to her.

"You're quiet." She hadn't said anything since coming outside. They'd decided to look around, enjoy the grounds. Then eventually walk back to their cabin, to slowly settle from the surreal reality.

He laughed at his thoughts. It was surreal. "Aren't you going to ask me about why I did it?"

She rubbed her lip between her teeth, giving a lot of thought to her response. She looked at him and smiled shyly. "Not unless you want to tell me."

"There's not much to tell—"

"Yes, of course I am curious. But I respect your privacy. I know about these ceremonies. They are usually filled with tons of pomp and circumstance. And definitely a lot more people. But not yours, Christian."

She brushed her fingers against his neck before settling them on his shoulders. "You wanted a very small ceremony, and you wanted me there."

She rested her head against him. It was a small moment, but an intimate act. "You know what I'm thinking?"

"What are you thinking, Anastasia?"

When she spoke again, her tone had shifted, she had moved on. "Your Ana," she corrected him with her eyes, "is thinking how lucky I am that you invited me." She took his hand and put it against her cheek, leaning into it.

"Your Ana is thinking it means something that you invited me. Maybe it means everything. It means maybe you want what I want. That you have opened up to me. That you are revealing yourself to me."

She paused and took a deliberate breath, exhaling up into his face. "That's the best way I can put it. Earlier, when we landed, I knew it was a big deal. I knew it was important that you invited me. I know I'm special to you."

"Yes, you are special to me, and I missed you. So fucking much. I didn't think I could go another what? Ten fucking days without seeing you." He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her wrist, whispering against her skin. "I've put this off long enough—for years, Ana. And I don't know… With you it's different. I thought if I had you with me. If you were her, it would make it easier. Better."

"Why? Why do I make it easier and better?" Her eyes pleaded. "What is it that I'm doing? What do I do for you?"

 _You love me,_ he though to himself. And he was risking his sanity to accept it. He was sloughing off all the ways he'd coped with life in order to keep her.

"I could ask you the same question you gorgeous girl." He chuckled. "But to answer yours…"

He was excited, he knew she'd like what he had to say. "I like to exhale when I'm around you… simply, so I can take another breath. Before… I was always waiting to exhale." _Or actively pursuing ways to quit breathing._

"Before what?" Her eyes searched his again. "Please… Tell me… I know you have a dark past and there's a lot of pain—" Her eyes were looking into his darkest corners, they feeling everything with their pretty blue light.

"Before you." He kissed her quivering lips. "Before you, Ana." Their kiss quickly became a passionate embrace, expressing what they still couldn't find the words to say. The warm August air around was nothing compared to the humidity between them. The way his heartbeat faster when her eyes looked through him, the way her body responded to his possessive gropes.

He pulled away, again overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. "Enough baby, let's enjoy Camp David."

She unhooked herself from him, and giggled. "I don't know. What's this place called again? It's pretty damn rustic. There was only room for two helicopters."

He hugged her against him and rocked, breathing in her fresh Ana scent.

"Thank you, baby. I managed to surprise the shit out of you."

"Yes. You did. I'm totally floored. I still can't believe it. This is beyond anything I thought would happen to me. Camp David? I mean. You're amazing. "

A slight breeze had shifted down from the mountain tops, and rustled the trees around them. It swelled and rumbled, drowning out Ana's praise.

Christian kissed her cheek and lifted her hips to meet his. He nudged her hair off her shoulder with his nose, nuzzling her where her neck met her collar bone.

"You told the President I was yours, Ana." He kissed her eyelids to encourage her to look at him. "Does that make you as happy as it makes me?"

"Mmm, I had to…"

"Oh?" He was amused. What did she mean? "You had to?" She was constantly surprising him.

"Do you think she said your name enough times? _'Christian' 'Christian'_ " He hummed at that. Her feisty side was arousing.

"Are you implying the President was flirting with me?"

"No, but—"

"You're jealous of Michelle Obama?" He bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds ridiculous. But yes. She was flirting with you."

Christian shook his head and hugged her again, kissing her head, humming against her. She was adorable and he liked the feeling that he was worth fighting over.

She jutted up on her toes, grabbing his face, jerking his mouth to hers. And he let her. Her full body groan stole his breath, and he was momentarily frozen by her possessive affection.

" _Ana,"_ Then she kissed him, her mouth insistent, forcing his lips apart, clashing teeth and tongues. Those delicate fingers of hers stroked the back of his neck and she held him close, pulling. Christian's body seized at the feeling, this slip of a woman was making demands. _Demands of him_. His every physical reaction, his every emotion.

For a man so practiced in control, he couldn't get his fucking mind to connect with his hands, and his arms fell to his sides in surrender.

"Dr. Grey, Miss Steele, my apologies but you must exit for now. Aspen Lodge is closing in preparation for the state dinner." Bennett was nothing if not efficient but his timing was up there with Sophie the dog.

Christian must have offered a half-hearted wave of acknowledgement, but he couldn't move his face off Ana's cheek. They were magnets, bonded together.

With great effort, he separated, leaving just enough room to find the pale blue of her eyes shining back at him. "Ana," his heart swelled, "the way you kiss me?"

"Yes?"

"Every time goddess, do that every time."

* * *

" _Je suis desole… je t'aime mon cheri… le weekend… Comme de garçons… voulez vous—"_ Ana was dressed for dinner first, while Christian fussed in the bathroom. When he came out, she was lying across the bed, snapping her Redskins belt over her head, singsonging French words.

When she ran out of words, Christian called out French terms for body parts. He kept an appreciative eye on her through the bathroom mirror. Eventually, they gave up and started naming French food dishes.

They continued their French word play while Christian added a shirt. He'd let Ana knot his tie. He felt alive. He felt good to be around her, so… complete and even. He smiled at the thought and noticed she was smiling too.

"What are smiling about Miss Steele?" She shrugged.

He leaned over her, hands fisted against the bed, to either side of her. He kissed each cheek—mmm, her supple skin tasted of spice and lotion—then raked his eyes down her body, admiring the slinky shift she was wearing. His hands mapped down her sides, over her chest and ribs, rubbing her dips and curves. Sliding down past her dress's short hem, to her creamy toned legs. He wrapped his hands around her ankles as he moved to the foot of the bed.

"Christian," she murmured, "you are too beautiful for words."

He bit his tongue. "I speak for a lot of men, when I say I don't really need to be called beautiful. It's not exactly…"

"Pfft, you can't speak for any men. You're a god among them. You should… like, ugly yourself up some, because it's wildly unfair to every other man on the planet."

"Are you looking at every other man on this planet?"

"God no. I can barely keep my eyes on you without spontaneously combusting." He started to laugh. She was making herself flustered. "I mean, I apologize if I have to walk around with my eyes closed. Sometimes you're so hot, my retinas need a break."

"Retinas, huh? You sound like me." He rubbed her legs up and down in long strokes.

"Dr. Steele, I like the sound of that." God, this woman could undo him, just sharing oxygen. But they had to get out of there, before something combusted. His body was igniting, a fuse about to wrap around him, unleashing more heat.

"Let me help you get dressed." He pulled her to him, her dress sliding up. Her fine ass was almost off the end of the bed, her lace underwear exposed. Lifting her leg, he sucked her toe in his mouth, and rubbed the pad with his tongue. Ana arched with approval, her loose knee falling open.

"What do you mean?" She huffed out. But it sounded like begging. "I am dressed."

He made a noise that expressed his doubts, "Of course." He dropped her leg gently, massaging her shins. Any contact was heaven.

"What do you mean _'of course'_?" She checked her dress, her undergarments. She palmed her breasts. Jesus, she was temptation. "What?"

"I meant _of course._ You and I were probably talking, when that aide, secretary—whatever, was going over some of the camp rules."

Ana slowly creeped her fingers down the duvet, and gripped the sides of her panties in her hands. "What rules?"

Christian caught her movements, and shook his head, tsking her, a sly smirk playing across his face. He bent over her again, gazing at her. _Hot._ "I think the President and I have something in common."

"Nope," she pressed her luscious thighs together, crossed her legs at her ankles, and held a grimace on her pretty face. "You are not going to play the Michelle Obama card to get me to remove my underwear for dinner."

He tilted his head. "There will be a kitchen nearby" He turned his head back and forth, studying her body. "I'm sorry to inform you. Camp David does not order in." He slid a fingernail up the sole of her foot, eliciting a shriek and a shudder. "Unfortunately." He sighed when she released her ankles, and he shifted all his weight to his knee, wedging it between her legs.

"Fine," she flopped her body like a fish, splaying herself spread eagle on the bed. She rolled her eyes. "Take them."

He kissed her mound and nipped the panties' lace. Then he shimmied them over her knees, while her breasts jiggled under her dress. Her hands covered her face, but not her huge grin or the blush that crossed her neck.

"I should have known. You and your pervy rules." He stepped back, pocketing her pink briefs.

Luke had texted, he was on his way over. Christian hadn't had a morose thought or a chemical craving all afternoon.

He looked at Ana, lying on the bed, propped back on her elbows, admiring him, entirely at ease in his pretense. Was this bliss?

Christian pulled her to stand, twirling her once to make sure her dress covered her most delicate parts. Ana grabbed her purse from the dresser and they walked hand in hand out to the front hall.

After she checked her self in the mirror, Ana balanced herself on Christian's bare feet, leaning up to him, resting her nose on his chin. They stayed that way, swaying back and forth, staring into each other.

Ana narrowed her eyes when he did.

"What are you hiding my pretty vixen?"

"I was thinking I was going to be pretty safe here, tonight."

"Safe? Yes, you're safe. What—"

"I mean from your kinky sex tricks," she whispered, suddenly chastened. Christian knew she was replaying the last couple hours as he'd been. "The studded belt aside, I doubt you'd try anything at Camp David. I mean with the President and _'Barack'_ down the way. This place is crawling with men with guns."

She'd surprised him. _Again_. What a contradiction she was, at once needy, sexually demanding, and practically the next breath, she was shy and vanilla.

"Hmm…" Christian's mind went in several directions at once. She knew his tastes, which was… no secret there. A state dinner with the President of the United States aside, was she playfully suggesting kink was on the table? But she saw it as somehow forbidden, depending on the locale?

 _Maybe…_

She will never see the playroom. _Ever_.

"Ana. Baby. Did you think I'd ever take you to The Drone? That I'd let you be there under any circumstances?" She bit his chin.

"The Drone?" She played coy, chewing a finger, then tapping it on her cheek, as if she had no idea what he was talking about. But she knew what The Drone was. "No, I don't want to go to The Drone."

"Good answer." They kissed. "And if the Drone is out, that means indulging my kinky side—" he smoothed his palms across the sides of her breasts "—everywhere else is fair game."

He bit down playfully on her bare shoulder, licking the mark. "I'll have you where I want, when I want, and how I want." He glanced around conspiratorially, "Camp David be damned. You're mine."

She purred like a kitten, "That's a two way street, doctor." His own soft growl encouraged her. "As long as you're in me, you can have me anytime, anywhere."

She held her tongue between her teeth and teased him with a wrinkle to her nose. "Unless of course…we have an audience…" she encouraged his hands to continue mapping her torso, settling them on her perfect round rump, that soft spot where her thighs met her ass.

He squeezed, aroused by the banter. "Mmm, baby—"

"With the President of the United States." She taunted.

He tossed his head back and laughed. She giggled too and tugged on his tie, landing loud overdramatic kisses across the parts of his neck she could reach, from her perch on his toes. Her own peals of laughter forced warm staccato breathes across him that singed his skin.

He leaned back to look into her beautiful face, and she held on to him.

"Ana, I love—" several things happened at once.

Ana stilled, her hands digging into his shoulders. Christian froze, his arms wrapped tightly around her. His breath hitched and he swallowed hard. Her eyes widened and his smile grew.

When he spoke, his voice was gone, reduced to this singular truth. It came through on a deep whisper. "I fucking love you." And he meant it.

She let out a small breath that bounced between them, then pulled back, her lashes closing down on her cheeks as she absorbed the moment.

When her lids opened, their eyes met. A flash of vulnerability washed over her features. It was so raw, Christian felt it in his chest. What was she thinking?

Her blue eyes danced over his. Her lip—yep, safely under her front teeth. He'd thrilled her. Christian smiled lazily and exhaled. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Mhmm," she licked her lips and opened them slowly, more slowly than humanly possible. Christian waited in reverent anticipation. Say something baby. Say something.

"Christian—"

Something jostled them from behind him.

"Hey, can we go? I'm starving. Nice dress Ana." Fucking Luke!

...

 _Thank you for reading and reviewing. Sincerely thank you so much._


	29. Chp 29 The Simplest of Declarations

_This chapter is packed! I hope you enjoy it :)_

 _Without you amazeballs readers and followers, this is nothing but a silly early morning or late night diversion. Thank you is inadequate. Writing is pretty hard sometimes, and confidence can be hard to maintain. I draw a lot of confidence from your reviews and support. So I offer you my sincere gratitude._

 _Again, Mllezeau is the only reason there's an update—thank you xo. She has a new kickass story called Constant Cravings and that's exactly how I feel between her updates. The chemistry is awesome between Ana and Christian and the concept is really original. _

_I'd be lost without the rest of my peeps, but I need to protect the innocent, so I can only refer to these powergirls as the Ladybug Crew. Thank you! for reading my little scribblings and being so supportive and encouraging me :)_

 _If you haven't already, please check out lanielove dot com. She's an inspiration, and a fine fine fellow writer. Her stories are fantastic. There is at least one Lanie easter egg in every chapter here. ;)_

 _Here we go…_

.

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 29 — The Simplest of Declarations**

 _Friday, August 11_

"How did you arrange all this?" Ana asked, as she swung her naked legs back and forth perched on the back of the golf cart. They were being shuttled to dinner at Aspen Lodge under a canopy of dense species trees, Luke riding shotgun. "Is this why you asked for my social security number?"

Ana had her gold slingback sandals looped through her fingers, swinging them by her hip. Apparently, she hadn't deemed footwear necessary yet. Christian was still getting to know her habits. Ana was too—when he'd slipped into a pair of white suede Adidas', sock-free, Ana had squealed with delight. _"Your ankles are so sexy."_

As Christian methodically inspected Ana's legs in tonight's evening breeze, his mouth watered slightly. He sucked his tongue behind his teeth—fuck, her ankles were sexy as hell.

Beyond his immersive appreciation of Ana's complete anatomy—he laughed at himself—Christian was caught up in her radiant appearance. He reached out rubbing a long lock of her dark hair between his fingers. His other hand rested high on her thigh. The sinful licks of pleasure this brought him, knowing she was bare beneath her skirt, inches from his thumb nail, pleased him. But her wispy dress was short…

Her question… "Yes it is. A cursory background check is standard procedure for White House visitors." He leaned over and planted a chaste kiss to the side of her face. "I thought the ceremony was going to be there, at the White House. I wanted to impress you, I guess." he admitted.

Ana's face crinkled, mystified by his apology. "Oh, I'm impressed. That you went to such lengths." She wrapped her arms around his middle, and leaned against his shoulder. It was quickly becoming a favorite position of his. He watched as Ana stretched her toes out to run along the bushes lining the cart path.

"Then the White House scheduling secretary called my office. Andrea, my nurse picked up. I'll never hear the end of that." Ana looked curious. "She said the ceremony was moved to Camp David. That's when I came up with the idea to fly over. I called my friend. And…"

"This is perfect, you know that?" She cuddled into his side, staring up into his face.

"You're perfect." He kissed her gently, and found his lips wouldn't move away. Instead they lingered where he felt her breath against him.

Eventually, good manners, and his sense that Luke was watching, tempered his lust. "Oddly enough, you had no trouble with clearance. Whereas, Luke and I—"

Ana pulled back. "You think I'd be trouble?" He smiled at her.

"I don't think it. _I know it._ You have been trouble since you walked into that elevator."

"' _Elevator_ ,' I love how you say that. It does things to me. And what about that ' _elevator?_ ' I was rude to you."

Yes, the elevator. You breezed into that elevator, and into my life… "I think you breezed through clearance because your father was ex-military. You've been cleared before. Luke didn't have any trouble either. Irony is, even though it's my fucking MSF heroics we're…"

She squeezed him hard. "It's okay, we're together. It's alright."

"The Seattle Police Department had to clear me to fly cross-country."

"Yea? That makes sense. I'm a little surprised the President was okay with you being here."

He smirked, thinking the same thing, only Ana was voicing it out loud. "I'm not—"

"Christian, don't—"

"It fucking sucks what people will do for publicity, right? _'He's accused of murder? No sweat, my numbers are trending downward. I need good headlines. Let's trot out that misanthrope, Grey.'_ "

"Stop. You know that's not true. You know this President isn't like that. I don't even know what a misanthrope is, but I doubt you're one." She smoothed his hair off his forehead. "You _are_ a hero, you incredible man. You saved those peoples' lives." Her gorgeous blue eyes pierced through him, willing him to believe her.

He kissed her nose to break her spell, just as the golf cart stopped in front of Aspen Lodge. "Come on. Let's not keep the President waiting."

Ana shook her head, slipping on her sandals. "Unbelievable." Her fingers fondling her heels and the little straps, much too long for Christian's dick to handle. "This is unbelievable," she said.

"Come on, _Sawyer_ 's hungry." He threw daggers at Luke.

 **. . .**

"Christian, a minute? Before we go in." Luke spoke in a low clipped tone.

Tonight, when they arrived at Aspen Lodge, they didn't go directly into the rustic East Room to be seated for dinner. The trio were first directed to a cozy, intimate reception area, lined in deep mahogany paneling and the tweedy genteel decorations you'd expect for an old boy's club. The lighting was low and all the furnishings finished off with slim tapered legs and simple features, in keeping with the Federal-style everyone associated with the Presidency, but toned down for a glamping inspired look, if that's what it was called.

A string quintet, most likely part of the White House Marine Corps Band, was set up in a hallway alcove to the left, and it sounded as though they were playing "I've Got Sunshine," by the Temptations. Christian and Ana exchanged their surprised reaction.

He leaned into her, rubbing his lips across her neck, "You look stunning, baby." He winked. "I'm a lucky guy, _sunshine_."

The emcee from earlier, Bennett stood in the center, dressed in a suit without tie, acting as host and director. They stood on the side, watching the guests and the room. Christian's hand was nestled in the small of Ana's back, the pads of his fingers pressed along the natural divot there. Luke trailed behind them, too close for comfort, like the idiot was on some close protection-mode power trip.

The Washington Congressmen who were at the medal ceremony, and several more guests, were already there, socializing and drinking. Senator Winfield in a fresh crisp suit, and his wife were talking to each other, eyes darting around, waiting. Congressman DaSilva, more casual in khakis, hovered by the bar.

He recognized the French Ambassador Fabrice Moreau, from dozens of MSF events over the past decade. Christian was quickly becoming self-conscious about the company around him, there were a lot of powerful men in the room. The President and first gentleman were standing back to back, enjoying their discussions with other French diplomats. Barack Obama grinned when he spotted Christian, and nodded in greeting.

Right now though, his immediate concern: Sawyer needed to get lost. As soon as possible. Christian wasn't exactly upset or concerned about the sober companion thing, but he wasn't ready to reveal those details to Ana. He had other demons to exorcise first. Hopefully, Sawyer was about to excuse himself.

"Sure, Sawyer." What's this about. "You okay. Ana? I'll be right over, baby." He kissed her and watched her pert little body shuffle off to the bar for a cocktail. Every fucking human with a dick turned his head at her giggle. _Shit!_ Maybe the no panties rule was a bad idea. Christian stared after her. "What?"

"I should eat with you." What the fuck was he talking about?

"No, Luke." The look on his face brokered no argument. "You should not." He glanced through a set of double doors at the back, where a buffet was set up clearly for the Secret Service detail and foreign security personnel. It was a few feet before the hall to the East Room.

"Christian, man. This is why I'm here. This is your first social event—" Luke tried to hold his shoulder, Christian shrugged him off.

"I'm not a child." He was horrified.

"No. You're not. And I'm not your parent." Luke looked for understanding. "Look at all this." He motioned around them, maybe drawing attention. "There will be booze and wine—"

"Fuck you. I never drank like that. Never—"

"I might know that if you talked to me."

"I talk. To Elliot." It was marginally true, but what the fuck ever. Christian rolled his shoulders, and twisted his neck, adjusting his suit jacket and shirt. "You can fuck off." With your fresh patina of concern, your easy-going actor vibes, and chiseled good looks. Luke had some fucking balls. Where had Ana moved off to? Was she witnessing this? God she's gorgeous.

"Listen, _officer_." Christian was snide. "I can assure you that Senator Winfield and that French prick are not going to threaten my life."

Sawyer shifted his stance, crossing his arms. His head rotated side to side slowly. His own temper flared. "This isn't some game, Christian. Don't make this harder than—"

"Luke," Christian gritted his teeth, smiling in Ana's direction. " _That's_ why you're here. Remember?" Christian rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "The protection eats with the Secret Service," he said through clenched teeth.

That set Luke off. "You're a fucking—"

Christian laid his hand on Sawyer's chest and grinned, his most insincere camera ready smile.

"Look Sawyer, if that dipshit DaSilva so much as waves a fruity merlot in my direction, I'll send you an alert. Does that make you feel better?" He chuckled at Sawyer's annoyance. "I'll be fine."

He watched Ana clink drinks with Barack Obama. Christian was losing his mind. "I'll tell you what, if the Secret Service come to dine with us, why don't you follow them in? Otherwise, go fuck yourself." He turned his back to Sawyer as he hustled past him.

Addictions. Coping. Keeping people at a distance. All the damn secrets. He approached Ana. _Fucking secrets._ He hated them. Now that he was with Ana, he was serially cutting them out.

And like a lightbulb going off, he thought of Krystal. She had a little over three weeks left in rehab. She was a big fucking secret… From everybody. Even her own family.

The guests turned to the front to see the next arrival. Senator Winfield walked in, the political pretender, who'd been appointed to his Senate seat when his predecessor, Liz Hughes was named Ambassador to France. That odd bird is probably around here somewhere too, Christian smiled as he approached the mahogany bar.

Winfield wasn't alone tonight. There was a very attractive woman clinging to his arm. His wife. She was older than her husband, and dressed for a completely different party, every bit a Stepford wife. All made up, she looked vaguely familiar. Younger than her years maybe? There was a hollowness to her, he'd picked up on right away. Yes, she was made up and beautiful, but it covered a… blankness made over.

Christian rolled his eyes, then scanned his own clothes, maybe he and Ana were the ones underdressed. Fuck it.

His eyes moved to Congressman DeSilva, a smooth handsome man, dressed casually in a button down and khakis. He was drinking a craft beer and talking amiably with a correspondent from CNN, the lone official press representative, Christian guessed. DeSilva looked comfortable, and his leisurely way put Christian at ease.

The men made eye contact and shared a silent greeting. Christian had known Frank DeSilva for a long time. Politicians and charitable organizations tended to mix a lot in Seattle, a considerably smaller town for certain social circles. Christian marginally tolerated DeSilva, and his granddad did as well. He reflected for a minute. It made him proud that a man like DeSilva had been part of his medal ceremony. He was a decent man, a dedicated representative.

Christian hadn't met Senator Winfield yet, beyond shaking his hand in front of President Obama, but he knew all about how the asshole was trying to fuck with his life, his MSF mission. Winfield was the MSF committee interloper, and to hear Felix tell the story, Winfield was so far up Leyland Pharmaceuticals' ass, he needed a neck brace. Winfield was trying to force feed MSF high-priced vaccines that directly profited Big Pharma interests. That was enough thinking, where was Ana?

He sensed her first, then felt her hand snake around his arm, squeezing his bicep. She might as well have shoved his hand in a light socket.

"You're not drinking, doctor?" Ana sang, spying the iced tea in his hand. He smiled at her interest in him.

"I need to keep my head around you."

"Suit yourself, this is delicious." She set her own empty champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and toasted herself, sipping from a second glass she'd brought for him.

"Ana, I need you to go to the ladies' room. Give me your purse, baby." He whispered close to her, unable to make eye contact. His Dom voice was rusty. She'll think I'm nuts.

She passed it to him as she choked on a laugh. "Excuse me, what?" He fumbled with the clasp, but figured it out. With his well-honed secret skills, and great haste, he slid her sweet lacy underthings in next to her tube of lipstick. As he pulled his fingers out at the same time he clipped the bag closed, he was reminded why he was so competent and quick. He was a master at slipping drugs into his body with great speed.

As he pushed the purse back into Ana's hand, his eyes found Sawyer's and he felt all the shame and disgust from the past nine years bubble up. _What the fuck was he doing here?_ He whisked Ana flush against him to center himself. Then kissed her forehead. "Go, baby. I'll see you inside." She looked confused. "The ladies room. There's something in your purse you may need at dinner."

"I can only imagine." Her eyes danced, skin flushing with mischief. "Per-vert." She teased.

"Your pervert. Yes." He watched her lick her lips, and shifted his stance to quell his reaction to her. "See you in a minute."

 **. . .**

 _ **The State Dinner: aka the Food Interlude**_

Ana returned a few minutes later, looking like the cat that ate the canary, as the group was taking their places at dinner. Normally a formal chandelier-lit scene of small tables arranged for intimate conversations, tonight's state dinner was one long candlelit table, with the President and her husband in the middle, on opposite sides.

Ana stood between Christian and Barack Obama, facing the empty spot that would be occupied by Michelle Obama, the first female President of the United States, as soon as her arrival was announced. The first fifty times Ana pointed this fact out to him, he'd been as giddy as she. That slowly ebbed to pleasantly amused. Now, he just thought she her enthusiasm was adorable. Yes, fucking adorable. He took delight that he was responsible.

A barker intoned, "Ladies and gentleman, the President of the United States, Michelle Obama." Most guests clapped briefly, then took their seats.

As Christian pushed Ana's chair in and sat down beside her, she asked after Luke.

"Why isn't Luke here?" he repeated. Fuck Luke.

"Yes. Shouldn't he be with us?"

"Ana, what do you think? That I'm in danger from the junior Senator from Washington? Or that the murderer followed me to Camp David?"

"Well, I guess not. Haha, you're hilarious." She made a little scowl in response to his smile. "It's not really that funny. So where is he then?"

"Why the fuck do you care where Sawyer is? He's not important." He felt bad as soon as he said it. He didn't need her shocked expression to let him know he was acting like an asshole. Ana was only being her sweet caring self. "Ana…"

"Whatever, Christian." She took a final sip from her crystal flute and set it down, then fluffed her napkin on her lap as she shifted against him, brushing his arm with her shoulder. "I'm actually a little hungry. Must be all your amorous attention this afternoon." Her hand skimmed across his where it rested under the table. She pressed her fingers between his and clasped them together. "Or maybe I'm just exhausted from your peculiar preferences about my panties." She looked up at him, love and lust mixed with… bliss.

Christian half smiled, and wanted nothing more than to kiss her pretty lips over and over. How was she—the way she was—she was so… real? One moment she flirts over his 'peculiar preferences about her panties—' that made him chuckle deep in his heart—or she was calling him out on his shit, and in the next, she was accepting him, and even encouraging… "Baby, I'm the one—"

A parade of stewards entered the room, serving the first course, pouring drinks, dutifully waiting on the assembled elites. Christian waved the steward off when he attempted pour him some wine.

"So… food." Ana interrupted his thoughts. "You are the _perrrrfect_ person to share a state dinner with. Not that I ever thought I'd snag an invite to one." She motioned around the table. "We can completely nerd out over the dishes and sauces. I'm a total sauce girl. But you already knew that." She winked. Fucking winked, and he had no memory of what had gone on before or after this bewitching woman opened her mouth and talked to him.

 **. . .**

The dinner and the intimate, close atmosphere were incredible. Christian weighed the obvious dichotomy. Even though they were dining in a wood cabin nestled into the side of a valley in the Blue Ridge mountains, the menu highlighted the best of modern French and American cuisine. And it was elaborate.

The President proudly introduced each new plate as it was presented. She admitted she oversaw their mostly vegetarian feast, after she made her staff of culinary wizards compete in a sort of Iron Chef style cook off. She was bragging and thrilled with the results, and her own contributions. "This French-American dinner was built around seasonal ingredients from my White House Kitchen Garden."

The opening course featured potato and eggplant salad with White House arugula. It was served in some over the top terrariums with cucumbers and White House honey for the dressing and farmhouse cheeses.

The salads were followed by spring pea soup with American caviar. Ana squealed over the pretty presentation, the palest pink spun-sugar sweet peas—her favorite flower, she announced to the small assembly after she'd drawn everyone's attention—were suspended in the green soup.

As the diners settled into their places and individual conversations murmured around them, Ana smoothed a piece of hair back from Christian's forehead and looked into his face wistfully.

"All your talk…" She kept her hand on his face, moving it slightly against his stubble. "Your tarmac apology… that confession. About how you couldn't do normal with me?" She fluttered her hand dismissively— _this woman is hellbent on minimizing_ —she laughed. "Well, that! I do believe. Because this is not normal. You said you were worried that you were holding back, and how sorry you were, about how you were going to disappoint me, that you couldn't go on a date, take a girl to dinner, wine and dine her? It's horseshit Dr. Grey. _Christian_." The was she said his name. "This is _so_ romantic. Beyond romantic. I feel like I'm in a fairy tale." Their surroundings delivered on that front. The flowers, the music, the lighting. It was definitely a special night.

Christian pulled her hand down and kissed her bent knuckles, lacing her hand in his own. She's my sleeping beauty. That was the truth, her insomnia and the consequent rest that he brought her over those five nights…

 _God._ All this stupid shallow symbolism… His pierced scars, like literal thorns in his side, it was poetic. She was his sleeping beauty.

A look passed between them, and he hoped like hell she was thinking the same thing he was. He tilted his head, so damn happy. She bit her lip. _Now she's quiet?_ Typical—she shrugged her shoulders and her face split wide open in soul-stealing grin, her thrill at it all. He closed his eyes, the moment tattooed on his corneas.

Christian ate, apparently, because the faceless waiters moved his plates and silver and brought new ones. But he couldn't take his eyes off his date, even though there were a slew of others seated around him. He couldn't name a single item he'd tasted, until Michelle Obama started talking to Ana.

"West Point Miss Steele. I'm impressed." The President was addressing his date. But… what. the fuck. did she say?

Christian was stunned, caught staring, aware that he must have looked slack-jawed. Ana's mouth moved, confirming she'd been a West Point cadet. "I finished three years, but got clipped by some friendly fire during a training exercise." She sighed off any discomfort. "I transferred to George Washington in DC."

The president knows more about her than I do. Why is that? Because you're a selfish prick. His memory flashed to the weekend before. In one vision, she was on the phone, and obviously had an entire life beyond his addiction to her. Beyond being the center of his world. As his spine vibrated with longing, to know everything immediately, to get inside her every corner, he bit down on the side of his mouth, disgusted with himself. She is too good for you. Too good to be true.

"Your father is General Raymond Steele?" Ana nodded while audibly swallowing. Twice. With her head down, she glanced in his direction. Lost. And Christian's heart burst.

He rubbed her shoulder blades, pressing down with his left palm. Little good it did, she was stiff as a board. His reached his right hand across his body to squeeze her warm thigh under the table, grounding her to him. He knew she must be slipping under to grief.

When Ana spoke next, her voice was thin, reedy. Only slightly above a whisper. "Was…. My father was General Steele. He passed away two months ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Ana." Obama appeared surprised, but recovered quickly. "That saddens me greatly. He was an incredible warrior."

"Yes." Ana confirmed. "We kept it very private. Those were his wishes."

"Didn't he operate in the Afghan theater too?" Michelle nodded toward Christian. He responded with a tight smile, his mind still processing how the fuck the President knew more about his girlfriend than he did. And a little bit of shut the fuck up Michelle, you're upsetting her.

Ana looked at Barack Obama, the former President seated next to her, who was also nodding. "Yes, he did. He was in Afghanistan too. He was there…" Ana's moistened blue eyes turned to Christian's. "I'm pretty sure he was there at a different time. Some of his postings there… were classified, so I didn't really know where he was."

"And your mom?" Michelle smiled.

"She's not in the picture. She didn't really approve of me. Ever." Ana's crestfallen look said everything. Goddamn it, Christian realized they were so similar. He wiped a tear from her eye.

The President shook her head. "Your mother's loss, Ana. What a shame." Michelle may have even appeared offended that her mom didn't get it.

Christian wanted to groan loudly, what the fuck have I been doing? Ana was an amazing, complex woman, and he took her for granted. Not anymore. He vowed to himself to reveal every secret he had, and hope Ana would let him in. He was chastened and energized at the same time.

"How did you meet Dr. Grey?" Michelle gave Christian the eye, and he felt Ana's skin shiver. God, he loved her. He stared at Ana, as she began to answer, and watched her cute blush flood up her neck and around her chin, masking her face in a warm glow. He imagined she was flashing through their rollercoaster romance.

Ana's fleeting facial expressions morphed between horror and glee. Yes, she was thinking about the same memories. He bit back his smirk, to let her answer. "He's… he's my boyfriend, we both work at Seattle General Hospital. I'm in the PMR department and his grandfather was a patient—"

"PMR?" The President wondered.

"Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation."

"Not bad, Miss Steele. Dr. Grey is a catch, and he's completely smitten. He's lucky to have you. Y'all are sweet together."

Ana blushed and lowered her head, "Thank you." Recovering, she added, "This is the biggest honor of my life. It is so so good to meet you. So good. I love what you're trying to do Madame President."

 **. . .**

Ambassador Moreau rose from his seat to announce the next course. He was presenting an "interlude," according to Barack, who had taken to whispering all the goings on into Ana's left ear. Fuck protocol. Christian made sure his hand, perched possessively on Ana's shoulder, would discourage the man the next time he leaned in. Nobel Peace Prize… suck my nut Mr. President.

As all eyes turn to Moreau, Christian only watched Ana, the woman with whom he was hopelessly smitten.

Speaking in French, he paid tribute to their hosts and the special dinner in his honor. He prattled on, about how much he loved to eat, which was obvious, about how he revered America, and the Obamas. Of course he was a rich bastard, with a big fucking family, and vineyards and legacies.

Animosity aside, Christian felt enormous pride to be a part of the evening, squeezing Ana against his side. Her French was pretty decent, because she was smiling and laughing at all the right moments. She clearly understood the Ambassador's sentiments. Christian leaned his nose against her temple as the Ambassador's speech went on.

White asparagus. Christian heard it.

 _Nous avons apporte un cadeau gastronomique avec nous. Un bon mets français d'été. Un paquet special_ _ **d'asperges blanches**_ _fraiches de la ferm de ma famille._ _Le chef sert les asperges blanches avec une simple sauce béarnaise. Profiter, avec nous sincères remerciements pour ce merveilleux diner, compagnie de charme et cadre divin._ (Translation: We brought a present with us. A fine summer French delicacy. A special package of fresh white asparagus from my family's farm. The chef is serving the white asparagus with a simple bearnaise sauce. Enjoy, with our sincere thanks for this wonderful dinner, charming company, and divine setting.)

 _White asparagus._ Christian simmered momentarily as bile rose up. He thought he might vomit. His mind flooded with memories of Leila's pale pink body twisted and begging for—

Ana flashed him a glance, and he blanched when his eyes met hers. What the actual fuck! Her face flushed in an instant and Christian's stomach dropped. _She knew._ She knew about Leila. The white asparagus. The sordid details, how he brought her to red three times, how he fed her, denied her speech.

 _But how?_ How could she know? Christian felt his blood pumping, thudding against his insides, as though it was going to bleed out, his ribs imploding like hollowed membranes, crushing his heart like some fat rotten tomato picked in the garden out back. He was a mess. _No no no no no._ He couldn't breath.

The French guy kept droning on, but Christian didn't hear any more. He was staring at the side of Ana's head.

After her dishes were cleared, she sent her steward and the new plate of white asparagus he presented away, not interested in eating the pale delicacy. Christian followed suit. Maybe he was over-reacting. It was pretty badass of her to send back gifted vegetables that had flown across an ocean with the French Ambassador. Did she not like asparagus? Maybe Ana was concerned he'd be upset with her. Her little glance could have been seeking reassurance.

Bennett was back, bouncing over to lean down and whisper into the President's ear. Obama winced away a small grimace and excused herself, apologizing for being called away to deal with affairs of state.

Christian shook his head. Fuck me, Barack Obama was the back-up emcee. The tall first gentleman sauntered around the table to his wife and kissed her briefly. Christian and Ana shared a small affection themselves sighing in unison, the white asparagus soon forgotten.

 **. . .**

The evening went on. The string quartet—set up just beyond the main room—took a brief break from their French program of Debussy, Ravel and Saint-Saens, while the waitstaff served the main courses of Dover sole almandine, followed by saddle of spring lamb with chanterelle sauce.

Michelle Obama rejoined them, and the music began again. The President had an incredibly regal presence, smiling and nodding, lifting the room, the moment, all of it. It didn't matter though. Nothing she did compared to being with Ana. They were a couple, dining spectacularly.

The melody from the music caught him off guard. He recognized it, they were playing a modern repertoire of Cobain and Grohl. Christian threw his head back to laugh, attracting little attention. Seattle grunge music played acoustically on string instruments—what a fucking clever concept. Christian and Barack exchanged appreciative looks, the latter with a chill bounce in his shoulders.

Christian leaned behind Ana, to speak to the former President, his chin intentionally brushing across her naked shoulder. God, her scent invaded him, sliding up his nose, past his mouth, she was the most delicious thing here.

"Mr. President, who's idea was it to arrange a strings cover of Nirvana's Heart-Shaped Box? Yours?" The man winked. Ana shivered. What a day. What a life.

When he slouched back into his seat again, he took note of the decadent meal before him. Christian Grey, serial loner, abandoned son, isolated dark knight, addict and sadist, found himself happy and content.

As far as this elaborate state dinner concerned him—the eating—considering how much pleasure he'd derived from food in the past, how much he enjoyed the control and the sensual pleasures cooking offered, the delight of a great meal… He realized tonight, he couldn't give a fuck anymore. He looked around the room and thought, the only thing that could improve this moment, was if his grandfather were here. Hell, he had Ana.

 _Ana_. Ana held so many opportunities for him. She was moving him from the irony and distance he'd built in his life. Toward engagement, and end his life of gloom. End this decade long cycle of separation and sedation.

What if? What if she might possibly redeem him? Redemption? Was that fair to ask of another soul? He was determined to find out tonight. He was going to tell her everything.

 **. . .**

"Dr. Grey," The President called his attention. "you're as much the guest of honor tonight as Ambassador Moreau. And we are happy that you could join us. Even our daughters have been talking about you non-stop." Christian blushed at her compliment. "You're a doctor with a practice in Seattle, right? Tell us more. Describe yourself."

"Describe myself?" He was surprised by her command, Michelle Obama was profoundly wise and inquisitive, but she was invasive and pushy. It's dinner, not a preview of his memoirs. _Describe myself._ How to answer that question? Numb and just waking up. The fog lifting. He thought of the falcon's nest he'd seen earlier. Behind the cabin, up a little hill.

He stared into the President's friendly face, her deep brown eyes encouraging him. Her silent insistence was remarkable. He was safe here. And like that, the shaded atmosphere around him faded and he felt open, free—the same way he felt when she'd silently told him she knew about his struggle—his Afghan secrets. He shuddered an exhale, and smoothed down his shirt with both hands, sitting up.

Too overcome with the connection that passed between him and Michelle, he shifted his gaze to a spot somewhere in the middle distance between them. He felt Ana's eyes mapping his face. Describe himself. He was caught between space and time.

Fuck this. Describe myself? He was going to lie. He sipped his water. Wasn't he?

Hell, all the self-pity and self loathing were his to own. He didn't need the President and a group of gawkers invading that space.

What was he going to say to her? He knew that the one thing he was celebrated for—his humanitarianism—was the same thing that stoked his self loathing?

How could he reconcile the… the… successful brilliant anesthesiologist everyone called him, looked to him to be, when he was actually a shit coward? It made no sense.

She certainly wasn't asking for the truth. _The truth that he was a celebrated doctor, so gifted that he could do no wrong. He eased pain, and managed surgeries, but as it turns out he was plagued by shameful self-loathing. To anesthetize was to remember the pain and death that led to his brilliance._

He looked to Ana for reassurance, but he'd never told her any of this. She wouldn't understand. _Here they are celebrating me for the exact event that has destroyed me._

He could discuss his mastery, his control. His aptitude to read _The When_. His hospital Dom, as Felix called him. No one wanted to hear about that bullshit. So, he went with platitudes.

"On a macro level, an anesthesiologist eases pain, without touch or intimacy. That's what I do." The exact opposite of how Ana's calming hand felt on his waist. "I joke with my colleagues, somedays. I am the before and after doctor." Everyone was listening. "I only interact with patients who are scared, or fearful of what's to come. That's _before_ surgery. And then, I greet them when they're intoxicated, waking up. That's _after_ surgery." He shifted in his chair, very uncomfortable talking about his practice. He was vaguely aware of everyone was watching his exchange with Obama.

"Honestly, Madame President, it's all very transactional." And I hate myself for it. "I administer drugs for a living, and my birth mom OD'd. Pretty ironic."

"Yes, your childhood was horrific. But I know for a fact that you saved two lives less than a week ago. A grandfather and a little boy, I'm told." She looked around the room, to gather support for her narrative. She was slick.

"I'm sure you do much more than transact anesthetic, doctor." Michelle replied. "You wouldn't be here if that's what you did." She sounded offended. Who pisses off the President of the United States? An asshole. A natural asshole.

Christian cleared his throat, and looked past the President when he answered. "I don't like to talk about myself, Madame President. It's…" unbecoming. He shook it off. "When your mom basically dies in front of you, it shapes who you become. I took care of her many nights. I nursed her through a lot…"

"Thank you for sharing that doctor. It can't have been easy." She smiled again, resetting the room. "Ana and you make a beautiful couple."

"We do." Ana nodded too.

"Don't let this, all this excitement and over the top nonsense ruin what you're building. Afghanistan is part of your past. Ana has a past too." She winked.

He squeezed Ana against him still griping her shoulder tightly. Staring at her dangerous pale blue eyes. The ones that seduced and mesmerized him, the ones that made him live in moments he'd never imagined.

"Afghanistan ruined me." He licked his lips, not sure what he was saying. "In more ways than one."

"What do you mean Dr. Grey?"

"Afghanistan ruined me. But I have to keep going back to find that sliver of humanity I've seen in others. I knew," He fought his emotions, and Ana sighed with concern. "I always knew that I was gifted and my skills could help the real healers do their jobs."

"Is that how you got involved with Doctors Without Borders? To make it easier for the other doctors to do their jobs?" Michelle shook her head, incredibly moved by Christian's brutal honesty.

. . .

"Miss Steele, we've only dessert left to prepare. Would you please join me in the kitchen? We have some finishing touches and I need your strong, gentle hands."

Only Christian heard the slutty whelp Ana made at the thought of sharing a kitchen with Michelle Obama. He bit his lip, aroused and thrilled for her.

Ana and Christian exchanged conspiratorial glances, as Christian's hand slipped under Ana's short dress when she stood. He lightly ran his fingertips along the edge of her panties.

Ana looked at him, eyebrows raised, lips puckered. He pulled her arm down, to whisper in her ear, keeping his face neutral in case anyone was watching. "The kitchen, goddess?" he asked. "You are a rule breaker. There will be consequences, Miss Steele."

"Promise?" She kissed him full on the mouth in front of everyone. _Sweet Jesus._

"I'm hard." Her shocked expression was priceless, and he was beyond happy. "Off you go." He pat her ass goodbye.

 _. . ._

With the empty seat between them, Christian was effectively sitting next to Barack Obama. The former President held his beer glass up for a toast. Christian grabbed his water and the men shared a drink together.

"Dr. Grey. Christian. I, uh… just wanted to say, that, I take full responsibility for the friendly fire in Kunduz. For everything that happened. Always have."

Christian nodded. He'd been aware. He looked Obama in the eye.

The former Commander and Chief was circumspect, but went on. "I apologized to your boss, Joanne Liu (the president of MSF) and your General Director." He stared intently into Christian's face. "But now, I wanted to take this time. And apologize, to you. _Personally_. I am sorry, Christian. I am very sorry. You're an amazing American. And I am honored to know you. I am very happy, that you survived, so I could offer you my apology in person."

Christian shook his hand and mumbled some rejoinder. He was impressed and inflated, fighting back years of emotion and heartbreak. Both men twisted in their seats, eager to join less heavy conversations, just as their women walked back in ahead of a phalanx of stewards carrying trays loaded with desserts and drinks.

 **. . .**

"Tonight, we asked the White House chefs to go back in time for an old recipe. A personal favorite of mine. Using the finest milled French chocolate, we're serving mousse. The crystal parfaits are from the Eisenhower administration and our pastry chef, Annie Dillard, created the spun sugar decorations. They symbolize the American red rose, and French purple iris."

Everyone clapped, a wonderful finale to the evening. "While the stewards are serving desserts, may I ask that everyone please rise and change seats?" There was commotion as everyone move chairs. "It's an old Southern tradition. To make new neighbors after dinner." She smiled briefly.

After everyone took their seats, including Ana, who was now perched directly across the table from Christian, in between some French diplomat and Congressman DaSilva.

Senator Winfield's wife stood to introduce more wine. God these speeches, all the goddamn self-aggrandizement.

Not that Christian paid much attention. He was focused on Ana, shifting in her seat, her little arms adjusting something under the table. Would he ever get enough of this woman? Beside him, across the room, underneath and on top of him. His mind was empty for once, finally at peace, looking at his goddess. He'd exposed himself today. In a way he never imagined. He realized his vulnerability was in his past. The act of telling her had not destroyed him, it had made him stronger, more at ease.

The senator's wife was making some fuss about the vineyard and wine's the bouquet. Christian recognized her voice. Or thought he did. Over the years, he'd listened to many political figures and their spouses at galas and fund raisers. They all sounded the same, not to mention the many women who had made overtures to him at MSF events.

With his eyes still on Ana, he heard the woman say, "French soul, Mount Rainier soil." He almost groaned at her faux solemnity. Fucking just pour the goddamn wine.

The President thankfully brought an end to the speech. "Thank you Mrs. Winfield. I can't wait to taste it. Miss Anastasia Steele of the great state of Georgia and I made up the Creme Anglais from scratch. We took chilled French cream and whipped it up by hand, topping it off with a swirl of brandy. _Bon Appetit_."

Watch your mouth Michelle. Christian smirked at his one-track mind when it came to all things Ana.

 **. . .**

They began dessert, and Christian was aware only minutes remained before he was touching Ana's beautiful body, her luscious lips and those sinful hips that were made for his hands.

He ate, picturing her pretty pink nipples covered in chocolate, beading and hard under his flat tongue, her perfect round breasts squeezed between his fingers.

Ana caught him again looking at her. Stealing glances for the thousandth consecutive second. She huffed, like she was offended by his gawking. She rolled her eyes for effect, then broke out a new sly grin at him. What is she thinking behind those pretty eyes? Then she rubbed her bare foot on the outside of his right leg, her toes massaging his ankle, and the sensations she stirred he didn't really care what she was thinking.

He caught her lips moving, and he shook her off, furrowing his eyebrows. What was she saying? Her lips moved again.

' _I love you.'_

She mouthed it to him, across the crowded table. She loves me. Her words were telepathic, and hit him like a chop against his windpipe. He couldn't find his lips to move or his voice. He sat stunned, but only for a second because the rip tide that flooded out from his heart soaked his body in devotion and—

' _I love you.'_ She said it again? Fuck me! Sitting across from the President of the United States.

' _I want you.'_

What the fuck? He shifted, eyes glued to her pouty, naughty, perfectly amazing mouth. His mouth.

' _Now.'_ She added, holding her lips in a tight little _O_. His knee jerked up and hit the table, clanging the crystal and silver.

His smirk fell as hebegan to laugh, his mouth hanging open. Christian wasn't sure about the rest of his body, because her fucking mouth had just levitated him above the whole table. Holy fuck I need this woman, right now.

And she grinned like the sweetest, most innocent person on the planet… right before she sucked the mousse from her spoon, which made the least ladylike noise he could imagine. Ana gulped and her eyes went wide like buttons, her lips forming an innocent looking O, the same one she'd just made when she demanded sex.

He seriously considered that he'd died and been transported to Valhalla, but only for a second. She was real and fucking Christ, he'd never wanted anything more that to wipe that sweet smirk of hers off her face with the realest kiss she'd ever get. His mind ran a loop, mine, mine, mine.

Christian wanted to laugh at the irony. Or weep. She was the sexiest woman alive and she was playing him. Ana fed him the words he needed, in a way that seized his control. He was left with no choice but to absorb it, let it sink in. He couldn't defy her or fight back. It was the simplest of declarations, and the control of the universe moved from the most powerful person in the world… to the petit brunette sitting across from him. Squeezing his ankles between her bare feet.

He'd never felt such a powerful magnetic pull, it was flood of fullness and light. His brain overloaded on sensation, from every nerve center inside him. His skin, thank God, maintained it's structure, because he felt exposed and raw, and goddamnit alive.

And still, he was powerless to act. Fucking tease of the century. He wanted to laugh, but even his own reactions had been usurped by her.

She hijacked his reaction. What a cruel and wicked woman. He was left with no choice but to believe her.

 _I love you._ This fucking woman! She did it again. She smirked and bowed her head a little, suddenly interested in the whipped cream on her dessert. Not for long, she looked up through her lashes coyly and smiled a slow knowing smile. She knew what she was doing. Playing with fire. No, she's set a timer. The dam was going to break. He simply couldn't give her the control she'd just stolen.

He must have been imagining it, some kind of visual transference, but he swore her breathing was labored, in sync with his heavy breaths. MY GOD I need her. I need to touch her.

What the fuck! She slowly nodded. It was so slight, no one else would have caught it. Now she was reading his mind. And teasing him.

"Now Ana," he spoke the words out loud. First the senator, then Mrs. Winfield, the President and her husband, all of them stopped speaking and looked at Christian.

Ana blushed scarlet and bit her lip. She scolded him with her eyes, and it was clear there would be no rescue coming. He was stuck with his command.

"I apologize. I wanted Ana, Ms. Steele to offer me a taste— a bite of her mouth. I mean mousse."

 **. . .**

 _ **Thank you for reading and reviewing.**_


	30. Chp 30 Recap

_**Hi everyone, I've gotten a bunch of feedback lately that there are new readers who recently discovered The Sandman. :) Several were intimidated by the length but want to read and be a part of their romantic story.**_

 _ **I've put together a summary of the first 24 chapters, in case any readers would like to catch up. You can always go back and read the full chapters :) I love writing Christian's darkness to light story. I am really excited about where this wonderful couple are about to go.**_

 _ **Please me to let me know what you think. Thank you so much.**_

 ** _Don't forget to follow and_** ** _favorite xoxo Mrs Caron_**

* * *

 **CHAPTER RECAPS TO HELP YOU GET CAUGHT UP**

 **Chp 1:: I Know Who You Are**

Dr. Christian Grey, gifted anesthesiologist meet Ana Steele at Seattle Grace Hospital where she is a physical therapist/masseuse. He is immediately attracted to her. Later the same day, they meet again in the elevator at Escala. It turns out, Ana's recently deceased step father lived in Escala, in the only other apartment on the same floor as Christian. Now Ana lives there.

In the elevator, she makes it clear she wants nothing to do with him, telling him "I know who you are." And that she's aware he likes to "f*** hard." Christian is perplexed.

He continues on with his work, and spends the weekend with Leila.

Over the course of the next two weeks, he and Ana strike up an unlikely friendship. She suffers from insomnia, and asks for Christian's help. Friday night, before Leila's arrival, he offers her sleeping aids, thinking this will clear his conscience. It has to opposite effect. He feels guilty that he tried to medicate her grief away.

Sunday night, she approaches him and says she couldn't take the pills and is completely tired and exhausted. He reluctantly invites her in, fighting his attraction and indulging it at the same time. He feels vulnerable. And she cooked for him LOL They share dinner and she ends up sleeping on his couch. They do this five nights in a row.

After spending hour upon hour with her, Christian realizes over the course of those nights, that he cares very deeply for Ana, but a relationship with her would never work. He leads a dark twisted life, and his life, the things he has done, have left him a shell of a man, and Ana is not for him.

 _—'She'd drawn a line in the elevator that day. Hell, if she hadn't drawn the line… now, knowing her the way he knew her, now—her f***ing huge heart, her tenderness, her captivating mind and selflessness—he would have drawn a new f***ing line every day he greeted her.'_

He concluded that even if he could find a way to be with her… if she ever left, it would destroy him. And of course she would leave, so being with her would ultimately destroy him.

 _—'He knew he wouldn't survive it. He'd never survive her leaving him—which she surely would—when she'd worked it all out in her pretty little head. Call it self-preservation. Christian even managed to convince himself, for a moment or two, that Ana was simply using him, to process the loss of her stepfather. He laughed at the absurdity. He knew. She feels it too. She wants you to be different. Impossible. It was impossible.'—_

So in an act of self-preservation, he took her back to her place while she was still asleep, and tucked her into bed. He kissed her chastely and mouthed 'I love you' against her soft lips.

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 2:: A Week Apart**

While working at the hospital, Christian reflects on the fact that a former sub, Susannah is now a resident at his hospital and how inconvenient that is.

He is still caught up with his fantasies of Ana, which will never work. The next weekend, while he is taking all his frustrations about Ana out on Leila's body, Ana comes to his apartment door, knocking. He ignores her, then ends his contract with Leila, and spends the rest of the weekend at his parents' house to avoid seeing Ana, even in the elevator at Escala.

At work, he avoids Ana too. Wednesday morning, he has breakfast with his brother, Elliot. They aren't close. Elliot is a psychiatrist at the hospital. They discuss Doctors without Borders, (aka MSF), the humanitarian charity that sends doctors into war zones to treat civilians and soldiers, all the casualties of war.

Elliot takes a call that all hell is breaking loose at the hospital. A dead woman was found in the hospital library Tuesday night. Later Christian learns the dead woman is Susannah. He visits her in the morgue and reaches out to Elliot to finally disclose his lifestyle to him and get some much needed moral support.

Friday night, he finds Ana drunk in her apartment. He cuts his foot on a broken crystal glass in his haste to get to her. He is drawn to her, sensing her vulnerability, and almost takes advantage, almost kisses her. But they are interrupted by Leila, who is at Ana's front door. He was not expected her, having ending their arrangement the weekend before.

Christian quickly dismisses Leila, forcing her into the elevator. When he goes back to Ana's, she has locked him and Sophie out of her place. He returns to his apartment, cleans the blood, and goes to sleep.

Saturday morning, two detectives pay him a visit and inform him that Leila Williams is dead, found in a pool of water at the fountain in Soldier's Park. Ana appears in the hall, the cops remark that she looks like Leila. Then Ana does the most unusual thing. She lies to the cops. Twice. She says she'd never seen Leila. And she offers Christian an alibi. _'Dr. Grey was with me all night.'_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 3:: White Asparagus**

Christian flashes back to a scene from a few weeks ago. He cooked and fed Leila white asparagus. He finds the vegetable very rare and delicate. He served it with pink champagne. I tried to make food sound sexy. This is one of the favorite passages. I am very proud of it.

The Seattle police interrogate Christian about his whereabouts both the night Susannah was killed and last night, when Leila was killed. They mention that these women were involved in the lifestyle, and Christian doesn't deny any of it. Ana witnesses all of this, she even makes coffee in Christian's kitchen.

Ana suggest Christian get an attorney, but he declines, saying he wants to help.

The police ask if he knows someone called the Sandman, because they believe both victims were involved with him at some point. Christian knows who the Sandman is, but he doesn't share that information with the police.

Christian recalls that he was high on drugs, and he has no memory of his whereabouts the nights either woman died. He figures he didn't leave his apartment, or Sophie would have woken him up, but he has his doubts.

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 4:: According to Ana**

The interrogation continues, and the police bring up Krystal Devine. She was a person in regular contact with Leila Williams, but no one has heard from her in two months. Christian admits that he knew her, but that is all he says. We learn more about Krystal in a later chapter.

After the police leave, Christian tells Ana he is going to Susannah's apartment and Ana invites herself with him.

He takes a shower, and we learn that he has scars around his body, that he has been trying to keep from Ana, because he doesn't want to explain how he got them.

 _—'He could see the marks that wound around his torso from five feet away. He didn't need the mirror, he had them memorized. Reflexively, his stomach tensed to minimize them. He could smell them. Faint baby oil at first, then the metallic smoke. He could taste the acrid bitterness, like choking on pennies. The images changed into Leila, her rigorred and bloated form, not quite floating in the shallow soldiers' memorial. He shook it off. It was too long ago. It was too near. He spun away from his reflection, tossing his clothes on top of Ana's abandoned pajamas, and entered the shower.'—_

While getting ready to leave, Christian confesses that he doesn't have a heart and Ana gets very upset. She invades his personal space. Twice. And draws a bubble heart in lip liner on his chest. She adds 'according to Ana,' and they share a moment.

 _—"Come back here." He pulled her back onto his lap, where she settled shyly, he sensed. "You're amazing."_

" _You're a mystery."_

" _No. I'm not." He held her glassy blue gaze, and sighed in contentment, realizing the world could end, and as long as he could remember the past five minutes, as long as he could remember the look they shared in this finite moment, simmering with infinite promise. . . . He frowned at the fallacy. He pressed her head into his neck and held her there. "I'm forsaken."_

" _Not to me, you're not." She mouthed into his skin._

" _Give it time, Ana. Give it time."—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 5:: His Racing Heart**

Christian struggles to contain his physical and emotional reaction to Ana, and ultimately he loses. They share their first kiss, outside the elevator of the parking garage.

—' _He eased against the elevator wall. Beyond the loss of that control, was the loss of time. The when. When would he feel helpless around her? When would the feeling subside? How long would Ana stick around? How long could he sustain this… this carefully crafted facade? There was no barometer for that pressure, aside from his escalating thoughts and racing heart. He heard her exhale and imagined her tiny breath consuming him._

 _He looked to her, with a plea in mind._ Quit being. _His eyes caught on the round freckle over her left eyebrow, a tiny mole really, with a minuscule elevation. He swore it changed tones, depending on her blush. He imagined barely brushing his ring finger across it, before kissing it softly. To call it a beauty mark was beside the point. It was a lure, to the enchantments her sudden appearance in his life had conjured. Pressing her face against his, her lips on his neck, making love. Who the f*** was he to think such things about her?'—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 6:: I Can't Let You Go**

At Susannah's apartment, there are developments with the mystery. Christian and Ana give in to their strong feelings for each other. He admits he knows who the Sandman is, but Christian believes he would not hurt anyone. Ana seems to lure him into Susannah's closet, and he is all too willing to go and they make out. He is very conflicted about this, because Ana is a normal woman, and his life, his past choices lead him believe nothing can come of their intense connection.

—'" _Ana" he sang out, and slid his tongue across her lips kissing her wildly. She hummed off his face._

" _We can't. Not here. Please." She was horse with emotion and choking on lost control. He opened his eyes. She pushed his shoulder, and he acquiesced. He kissed her nose and held her as close to him as possible, pressed into the darkness of Susannah's closet. Isolated._

 _It was okay. His eyes found hers. He was about to reassure her, tell her it was alright, when the image of Susannah's haunting blue eyes came into his view, staring up at him. She was so still, laid out lifeless, her cold body silently submitting, waiting on the slab for the next blow._

 _In that moment, he realized he'd never truly hated himself until now. It was a pure feeling, and his dormant self-loathing released itself like a snagged line unraveling at great speed. An anchor dropping, that tethered him to this spot, the dark closet of his dead submissive. He recognized now, what he'd never considered—what his self-loathing had cost him._

 _He despised his choices. His own slow self-medicated euthanasia. The morbid decisions he'd made as a doctor. The selfish way he handled his private life, the whippings. The massive loneliness that meant he held a bewitching woman in his arms, and she was thinking what a sick twisted f*** he was. 'You like to f*** hard.' He laughed as he gave up, something else for her to misinterpret._

" _You're right." He kissed that freckle and lingered over her, smelling her enchanted skin again. "You're right Ana. This is wrong." As he pulled her hand from behind his head, he felt her foot release his calf, where she'd wrapped herself around him._

 _When she almost fell, he realized only her shoulders had been resting against the wall. She'd merged her tight body wth his as best she could, suspending herself in his willing arms. The many ironies and levels of connection weren't lost on him. He watched in silence as she straightened herself. The moment gone.'—_

In the kitchen, Ana finds his Dom phone, the phone he used to maintain his relationship with Susannah. She also finds letters. Ana punches the passcode into the phone, 'NOLOVE' and they see that Susannah had texted Christian on Tuesday night, asking him to meet her at the library that night. Christian told Ana he never got the text.

Ana asks for a relationship, or the opportunity to at least explore one. She's very open with her feelings, demanding.

—' _She interrupted him, breathing into his face, "I want what I'm feeling to matter to you. I've got all these ideas and opinions about what's happening to us." She cupped his chin. "I know." Her eyes followed his. "I told you. I've always known. Since I first laid eyes on you …" She looked away.'—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 7:: Angels & Demons **

In the parking lot at the hospital, Ana and Christian meet Dr. Felix Ramal, a British neurosurgeon and the head of the hospital's sleep clinic. Felix is also part of the Doctors Without Borders (MSF) program with Christian. Felix enjoys dominating women, and knew Leila. Both men have been to a club in the city called The Drone. He is aware of the deaths.

They discuss the charity and the new board members, and how they are stirring up trouble for vaccinations. The new senator is in bed with Leyland Pharmaceuticals, a giant in the industry, and that complicates the MSF mission.

Christian doesn't want Ana anywhere near Felix, knowing his predilections. Felix sees a potential new contract for Christian when he sees Ana.

—'" _She sure is your type, isn't she?" No, she's not, Christian thought. She's nothing I could ever imagine. I don't think she's real. "She looks like her." He meant Leila._

 _Christian grimaced. "A little. I don't know. She's so… different. I don't know." He checked on her blurry form again. She was talking into her phone now, giving him the one minute sign._

 _Felix coughed, then spoke again. "Sydney (Dr. Frost, the medical examiner) spent four hours with Leila this morning. Her body was a bloody mess, covered in bruises from her neck down."_

" _I haven't seen Leila in some time." Less than twenty-four hours to be exact. But Felix doesn't need to know that. Christian feigned ignorance, focusing on the new tattoo that poked out from Dr. Felix's shirt._

" _Leila, that woman, she was the sweetest." Shit, f***ing hell! Felix was with Leila? The rain had picked up a bit, but it sounded like Felix had more than a friend's interest in Christian's dead sub._

 _Felix had her? Had my Leila?'—_

There is also a flashback from one of the first evenings Ana and Christian spent together. It's sweet, showing the connection between them.

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 8:: Zachary**

This chapter illustrates who Christian really is. A straight up dedicated healer, a great man. And we are presented with the real dichotomy at the heart of his character: his inability to accept himself for who he really is. Even with all his good deeds, his past haunts him and he has condemned himself because of it.

Christian reflects on his so-called heroics from his tour with Doctors Without Borders (MSF) in 2009 in Afghanistan while he looks at a commemorative plaque at the hospital. He sees his brother, Elliot the psychiatrist, and they discuss the MSF meeting again, how Christian is handling these deaths, and he just happens to save a man's life who goes into cardiac arrest in the ER.

He is called into emergency surgery on a little boy, Zachary, who was injured at the zoo. And he saves the little boy's life as well. This passage demonstrates Christian's incredible aptitude as a doctor. Following the successful surgery, he hides in a bathroom and gets high.

—' _He was reeling. Today's blows had broken him. The lows of Leila's death, the interrogation, the highs of Ana's embrace. They were nothing compared to saving Zachary. He could never verbalize this kind of trauma. A dying kid to rescue. Christian smelled his flesh, heard the boy's heart. He'd breathed for him. For a fleeting moment, that was a wonderfully gratifying feeling, but it was also the worst feeling in the world.'—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 9:: White Awake**

Felix confronts Ana in the doctor's lounge and says do not hurt Christian. Felix tells Ana he cares very much about Christian.

—'" _Christian is a remarkable person, Ana. He means a great deal to a lot people. Even though he's lived a complicated life, he deserves every measure of the peace he's not yet found." He let that sink in as he rounded on her again. "Nothing would bring me more joy than for him to find…" he weighed his words, "what he's looking for." He punctuated the end with more smirking.'—_

In the mean time, while he is high, Christian dreams, he has a burning vision that Ana can heal his scars. I think he is associating his burns with Ana:

—' _Christian leaned down and brought her cool body against his, and it was amazing. She smelled amazing. Like heaven and home and forgiveness and acceptance. And he was a young man again. He felt it, his heart open up. An unburdening. A freeing. With Ana. It was true._

 _Was it a confession he'd offered, or was it hers he'd received? He couldn't know. How could he? He'd been blind and unable to hear. But he could feel, and that was everything. She was everything. Unburdened from the suffering form he found at first, at one edge of the meadow, Ana finally brought her tiny hands around him and held him tight. 'I've got you. It's okay. You're alright.' He fell over into numbness and everything went white.'—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 10:: Small Progress**

Christian discusses Zachary's perilous condition with the members of Zachary's family in the hospital cafeteria.

Christian finds Ana working in Physical Therapy and he is beyond pissed that she has spent so much damn time on her phone.

She finally shares a tiny bit about herself, telling him she is on the phone with her ex.

She calls him Dr. Smooth and offers him a massage.

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 11:: You Could Sink a Thousand Ships**

Christian recognizes the danger Ana represents to his existence, and his to hers. **This is the beginning of a theme** , that the thing that makes you great, is the thing that can destroy you. Ana can make him feel alive, but consequently, she can also kill him.

He and Ana spend more time talking and flirting, kissing and touching. He contemplates how his life, his secrets and his past will ultimately crush her.

—' _He had no answers. He didn't understand it himself. His disbelief stemmed from his control. The more control he had, the more he understood and could predict outcomes, of any kind._

 _The problem with control though, was Christian's methods left him in a singularly lonely place, most of his waking life._

 _Ana represented the antithesis to his control. By any measure. Especially her capacity to attach to him emotionally. He simply assumed at some point, he'd seize it back, the control._

 _As with any hypothesis, he would try to predict the outcome:_ _ **His control would hurt her. His need to control his own emotions and control those of others, would ultimately devastate her, which would in turn destroy him.**_

 _ **He wanted to mention this irony to her—a concession of his character—that his methods to protect himself, were most likely the exact methods that would hurt her. It was recursive. He couldn't escape that theme anywhere in his f***** life.'—**_

He begins to understand that Ana can destroy him, but it's because he has such deep feelings for. He tells her:

—'" _I've seen some amazing acts Ana, and I have a memory of what is possible. Maybe that's what's sustained me all this time. It's as though I had to endure these horrific… events, to recognize the prettiest ones. I've never seen anything like you, Ana. I've never seen anything as beautiful as_ _ **you**_ _. All that came before—that ugliness—I needed it to recognize_ _ **you**_ _."_

 _He caressed her cheek and chuckled at her gawking. Her lashes were moister now, and threatened more tears. He blew to release them, to move away their distortion._

" _Although your eyes. I'll admit, they are so beautiful… like icebergs. The kind that glow blue from within. You could sink a thousand ships with those eyes."'—_

He confessed to Ana that he never really kissed any of his subs. So this is all new to him. Kissing, being with her, is all new.

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 12:: You've Hurt Enough**

Christian declines a massage from Ana. He can't handle her touches like that, even though he wants them desperately.

We really glimpse Christian's innate goodness here. He visits Leila's body in the morgue. He expresses deep grief. It's very moving. He can't say goodbye, so he has to go back a second time, for yet one more moment with her.

We are left to consider what exactly Leila meant to him. While the coroner waits for the toxicology report, it is unclear if Leila committed suicide or she was killed. I love everything about this scene.

—' _Suicide, or murder? Which hurt more? Which disastrous turn in her life twisted more deeply in his chest? "Does it matter?" He surprised himself, asking out loud. "I'll never see her again."_

 _He raised the near side of the tarp to see her hand, expecting a bloody mess. There was none, just frigid green skin, the color reflected through the latex covering where the fluorescent bulbs above acted like a prism._

 _He slipped his hand in hers, threading his fingers among stiff fingers. They felt so brittle, frozen in place. He slumped down against the tray where she rested, and brought his mouth to the back of her hand. Then he kissed her, even though the rigor had set in hours ago._

" _I'm sorry Lee. I'm so f***ing sorry." He tried imagining her smell, her fresh-washed goodness, her taste, over the oppressive odors of death and dismissal that swirled all around them. In her own life, she was the opposite of everything he tried to be. And yet, she'd suffered for months to be with him. In the end, she admitted she missed him, and the terrible things he did to her. What demons had she been fighting, suffering through? He'd never asked._

' _His very existence in Leila's life likely led to the end of hers, and he'd have to live with that finality. Almost to the exit, he saw his own face reflected in the glass windows at the entrance. At the last second, he doubled back, and went through the same sterile process again, to have another moment with her, his Leila. This time, he took the small felt bag containing her possessions, stealing the last piece of Leila he could. Of course she didn't protest when he took these last objects from her. She never did. She never had. '—_

Later, Ana senses a deep chasm within him. She asks him if he's hurt enough, maybe he should be over hurting. Christian said the same thing to Krystal Devine.

Christian is the on cll anesthesiologist, so he has to remain at the hospital for the remainder of Zachary's recovery, and in case there are any complications. Having Ana there, is seriously screwing with his concentration. Against his better judgement, and conflicted, he asks Felix to drive her home.

There is a flashback to an evening he and Felix spent at The Drone. Christian met a very high Krystal there, and took her home. She stayed with him for the long Memorial Day weekend, and he helped her detox.

—' _For two long days she detoxed and raged. At him for denying her what she wanted, at herself for her self-immolating choices. He'd never shared such intimacy and connection with another person. For two long days, Krystal slept in his bed. No trophies, no awards, he'd simply saved her life._

 _He'd risk his neck for her in every capacity after those hours together. And f***ing Felix thought driving Ana home was returning the favor? He had no idea. That's irony._

 _When Elliot appeared on the third morning, with three coffees, two plane tickets, and a new disguise for her, Christian finally admitted to himself something he'd known for so long, but he'd refused to admit. Not everyone in his lifestyle was benign. Not everyone was simply working through traumas and mutual power exchanges._

 _There was a malevolent stain on The Drone, and there were sinister people with malicious motives, intent on corrupting this fragile girl. He passed her to Elliot without preamble. He would ferry her to her final destination, Choices Rehab Facilities, in Malibu. He did so with a heavy heart. That the whole clever secretive charade was even necessary. That in those forty-eight hours, not once did her parents reach out to her. That she was alone and broken, and that thank God she'd managed to fall into Felix's field of influence on a warm night full of multiple partners. Thank God.'—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 13:: The Space Between Heartbeats**

Christian gets home finally from his super long day at work. He wants Ana, but leaves her alone, he doesn't contact her. He looks over his body again, now with Ana's lipstick heart smudged around.

—' _He closed his eyes and tried to rub away the soreness from work, the dull ache, buried under layers of skin, and muscle and bone. He slowly brought a hand over and caressed his own skin down his torso, to his waist and the collection of irregular marks, the pocks and indents, the divots and worn skin that hugged his waist—a camouflage of sorts—trying to simulate how they might feel to Ana, if he did let her get that close. It was bittersweet to think she sought to release his pain the one way he fought against, through touch.'—_

He took a shower to wash away all remnants from his horrible day and wrestled with the idea of Ana.

— _He yanked at the shower door and let the faucet fly. F*** this! It's not real. None of this can be real. I know who I am. While he washed his body, rubbing off every last mention of Ana and her makeup tattoos, he felt calm return. His control. None of it was real. Except…_

 _A bitterness cleaved in his throat, and reached up from his chest where it fanned out and he felt his pulse deep in his molars. His throat clenched and his heartbeat rose into his ears. It's the lost control, the seismic unease of her. He'd do anything to avoid this ache, this dooming sense of release. He simply couldn't endure it._

 _None of it was real. As the hot shower rained down on him, he grabbed on to the last drops of denial, fraying on the chambers of his heart. He would hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not imagine a real future._

 _What was unendurable was what his own head would tell him when it lurched toward Ana, and peered over the walls. A fire lit in his body at the thought, a million splintering pulses radiated in agreement. But he could choose not to listen. Not to listen to his heartbeat. Not to hear her, her calm insistent saving call. He'd endure it, and ignore it. He'd live between the heartbeats. But was that really living. Is surviving really living?_

 _He leaned in the corner of the shower, the hot water sheeting over him, washing away so much. His past, his inexorable past lives were catching up with him. He'd chosen separateness. But now he wanted it all. He chided himself for looking back, even after she'd offered herself to him._

 _For ages he'd existed in the space between. The space between living and dying. The space between family and strangers. The space between clear and high. The space of melancholy and denial. The space of no one. His own space. The space between heartbeats._

 _He could measure his heartbeats and know he was alive. But was being alive the real goal anymore? What was real? What Ana offered? Or the exiling isolation he lived now? Didn't Ana make him want more? Make him crave more? His past, the spaces between, those spaces didn't seem real now. He could continue to tell himself his space between was real—just surrender to the space between._

 _When he sloughed off his past, and stopped… listening for his heart to beat, he found the walls disappeared, and in the center—where his head met his heart, instead of being closed in—in the center was Ana. He was there too, with her. She made all his excuses, all his past misdeeds, and the spaces between evaporate. Crumble, part, wash away. He climaxed to an image on her, lying below him in the red room, it's walls fading, vibrating with love.'—_

Ana calls because she said there was someone in her apartment. Christian rushes to get her, and she meets him halfway in the hall outside their apartments.

—" _I am here." He tilted her a moment and lifted her into his arms. As she settled against him, she pressed her mouth to his collarbone and whispered thank you. He couldn't answer, he was overwhelmed. The fog she'd kept him in for the past few hours was back._

" _Christian, I'm scared." His fingers squeezed her soft held her possessively when he turned down the hall to his place, trying to mould her into his body. He realized he was naked from the waist up. With Ana hugging him, he was completely exposed, his skin, his scars, and soon—if he wanted any future with this angel— his past would be as well. For now, tonight, he focused on Ana, what she needed, letting the disquieting rumor in his head die down—someone is watching. He looked to her door, fastened closed, a plain wooden barrier at the far end of the hall. He pushed away thoughts of lay beyond there. Was it her past, hiding behind the door?'—_

He took her to bed in his room, and Ana took her nightgown off and things got heated quickly.

—' _Christian tried to fight it, the pull toward freedom, a real peace. No controls, no measures or narcotics. Ana was seducing him. She probably had weeks ago, when he first met her. Now, he could reciprocate, if he could just get his head to match his heart's desires. He was slipping under her spell, to his own dream of a healed self. Her sexy hips rolled over his in slow motions. He was so content, and her sweet voice whispering words, confessing her feelings for him faded. Her scent, her soft skin. He was in a wide meadow, where he'd pictured himself last night, kneeling in front of her._

—' _Her rhythms felt like a warm bath and he let her breathy sounds wash over him. She covered him in wave after wave of peace. He floated. For a brief second, he drifted. Drifted off and dreamt, a lucid dream of sunshine and apples and Ana. The sensations moved him, like good bye and hello all at once. It tickled his cheeks and seeped into his conscious mind. At the exact moment his body and mind were pulled under, into a deep deep serenity, Christian felt a small smile curl up his lips as sleep hit him—Ana is the f***ing sandman.'—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 14:: I Love You, but I'm Dangerous**

It's Sunday morning. Christian wakes to dark clouds, and has a really erotic morning with Ana. He contemplates what it means to be with a woman so soon after his submissives died.

—' _Losing Leila and Susannah, but gaining Ana? Could he wish for the first circumstances to change, without losing the later? That's a f***ing twisted thought this early in the morning. Wasn't it true though? Those women were dead and Christian had Ana.'—_

He heard her on her phone, and found her crying in the bathroom. He wanted to comfort her, but he was also jealous of who she might be talking to, a new feeling for him, and he felt out of control. He realized his true feelings for her, and scared himself, imagining dominating her. He leaves to make coffee. They have a fun exchange in his kitchen and they both finally give in to the feelings they have for each other. Christian offers her a final chance to walk away

—" _I want you Ana. I want to do so many things to you. I've wanted you since the moment I saw you and those pretty hands of yours. Once this starts, I think… my control will snap. I don't think I'll be able to pull away." Ever. "My need for you is… consuming me." He held her face in his hands, his fingers rubbing the curve of her neck, his thumbs skating over her lips, his breath marking her. "Ana this is your only chance to walk away from me."—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 15:: She's a Wish**

This is one huge completely, totally satisfying chapter for Ana. :)

" _Ana—" In a move so unlike him, he feathered his lips across her forehead and sniffed her hair, resting the side of his face in her bangs. Could he give her this? He tried on a reassuring smile as he met her eyes again. "Have you ever been with someone like me?"_

 _The trill in her throat left him drunk. It was an audible swallow—did she blink back a tear—she quickly shook her head, suddenly very interested in the trim on the lamp shade. He turned her shaky chin back to him and pierced her with a steely stare. "I'll take care of you." Then f*** you so hard you scream yourself hoarse. Try to use your phone after that._

 _Her teeth soothed her swollen lips and he rose to tower over her, before he grabbed her, tipping her head back to look up into his eyes. "I want that lip," he growled._

 _They kissed like old lovers who'd been separated by famine or drought, grabbing tiny breaths when they could, catching air between their lips. He wanted to bruise her lips, her mouth. And yes, goddamn it! Make her scream so loud she couldn't talk on the phone anymore. Her noises were his. How big an orgasm could he give her? He pulled back, his own eyes wide at his possessive thoughts._

" _You chew on this pretty lip all the time like you're holding back." He strummed it with his thumb. "Normally I like that very much. But you have a habit of talking to another that's driving me f***ing crazy." She winced at his words. And bit harder on her lip to fight the moan, but he still heard it. He was already losing control and he hadn't even touched her.'—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 16:: No Life Jacket**

Christian has a fantastically dirty mouth. And he makes good use of it, and even though he thinks he can't be what Ana needs, his actions prove otherwise.

—' _Acutely aware that Ana had a strange look in her eye, he paused for a minute—his body over hers again—to give her a chance to say something. He caught a distant gloom as it flitted past her eyes. A moment's panic gathered in his throat, but with a quick moan of her own, Ana fluttered her eyelashes and rolled her eyes back as she arched her chest up to meet his. He was disoriented, with her lying below him, like a… lover. And before he could recalibrate, resume is power play, he blurted into her face on a half breath, "Ana. You taste so pretty, baby. Did you know that?"—_

With a thunderstorm swirling around his penthouse apartment, Christian f***s Ana senseless. Several times.

He also introduces her to the no panties rule, but being as she's every bit his match, she has rules of her own.

— _F*** she felt good. Pleasure tore through him under her tight velvet grip and his whole body sung out in worship, in an ecstasy that unraveled over every inch of him. It converged in his center, and he felt his chest break, crack open for Ana, and he invited her in. Maybe not with the words he wasn't ready to admit, maybe not with the truths she needed to hear, but with his mouth and his hands, and their connected bodies, he gave her everything she'd ever need. He gave her himself.—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 17:: Covalent Bonds**

Christian sees that he's marked Ana's face during their love making, and this upsets him. He's reminded of his other relationships. His feelings are confusing.

They have a ton of flirty banter now that their inhibitions are dropping.

— _With his head pressed against the glass, staring down the thirty stories to the dreary street below, Christian welcomed the irony. He may have been falling, still there were limits. These feelings, the passions, any real affections, were simply inaccessible to share with her. To offer her. A real man, one with honor… He shook his head at that. Honorable. A whole man would give her up before she fell in love with him._

 _Today's physical reactions weren't new. He'd had plenty of sex, much of it filthy and wild. He'd f***ed enough beautiful women to destroy the imaginations of most men. The past two hours with Ana though, were mind-blowing and surreal. It wasn't sex. It wasn't f***ing, it was a different level of being._

 _Even now, safely ensconced in his home, yards away from her, his body fully clothed, he felt he might stroke out. His heart had gotten involved. That fat piece of meat in his chest, had erupted and roared like a raw nerve stimulating every exposed outlet within him. Every vessel filled with an energy that beat out a new rhythm, he felt in circulating through him, like little Ana sparks that lit up his systems and dulled out whatever pain he deserved.—_

Carrick, Christian's father, and an attorney, calls him to discuss the murders. Carrick says he should hire a criminal defense attorney because the DA is most likely going to charge him with murder. Christian is concerned the police investigation will cast a bad light on his charity.

—" _I want to help them catch whoever…" Ana nodded her ascent and stuffed a last bite in his mouth, then she followed Christian into the great room, nestling in beside him when he sat down on the sofa. Her arms clung around him and he rubbed her shoulder with gratitude. His was a natural response, as though she belonged there._

" _I know you do. They are going to ask you to voluntarily submit DNA samples, to rule yourself out. It's a shitty tactic. You're damned if you do, damned if you don't."_

" _Dad—"_

" _I want you to listen very carefully. Your competencies as a doctor hold no value for you here, Christian. There is nothing you can do or say at this point that will help those poor women. Do you understand?"_

" _I understand. I'm not stupid. What did you think—"_

" _Tomorrow morning, you're going to be summoned to the West Precinct to provide the police with blood samples. Hair. Your fingerprints." Christian didn't say anything. "Where were you yesterday afternoon, Christian? Felix thinks you went to that Susannah girl's apartment." F***ing Felix. "You can only expose yourself to more legal jeopardy. Your best play is to listen to your lawyer."—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 18:: You're Mine**

The slow burn is over. It is more difficult to briefly summarize the scenes without over or under emphasizing plot. Their interactions and flirty banter increase tremendously since they have finally shed their inhibitions and admitted they are deeply attracted to each other. This chapter has four parts.

 **~Afghanistan Explained~**

Christian explains to Ana the heroic actions he took in Kunduz, Afghanistan in 2009 while on a Doctors Without Borders mission.

Ana kisses his scars, but he still won't explain how he got them.

— _Ana coiled back, then slipped off the couch, kneeling between his feet. She brought her face close to his stomach, to inspect his torso. She ran her hands over his ring of skin tattoos, his scars. Christian could draw a map of each one. Each narrow slash in his skin. There were dozens of defects, some simple pocks, discolored craters. They formed an ugly sash around his waist. He closed his eyes as hers swept over his mutilated flesh, swept over the two- and three -inch gashes etched in white skin._

 _Several had required stitches at the time, but it was hours before he treated them. He knew those pale imperfections well. They ached and pulled, taunting him, calling his mind back to his morbid decisions and the hideous actions he took. He'd spent eight years coping with those decisions. Fading into himself, medicating. Coping. His entire existence was a calculated response to those murderous sixty minutes, to the lives he ended._

 _He could see now how letting Ana in had been the culmination of a turning point that began two months ago with he sent Krystal to rehab. When he let Leila stay even after she declared her feelings for him. When Ana found out, she would leave. And that, he'd never recover from. Even knowing that she'd run, she was still there now, in a strange graceful declaration: 'Let me in,' her eyes pleaded. And he knew he was going to let her in. He was damning himself and he couldn't give a f***. She was everything._

 _Ana's proud chin, and those bee stung lips hovered over his aroused core, where his hard cock threatened to escape. She ignored it, just as he ignored his basest impulses—instead wincing back the growing tide of unease at yet another of Ana's invasions. She kissed his gnarled body with mercy, then crawled back into his lap._

 **~Scheherezade~**

Ana sits on his lap and sweetly tells him she needs to leave town for two weeks because she has a standing gig with the NFL training camp for the Washington Redskins. Not only is she leaving for two weeks, but she is leaving later today, Sunday. She tells Christian that is who she was on the phone with yesterday at the hospital and this morning in his bathroom.

Christian is pissed and feeling really possessive and blindsided.

—" _Are you going to answer every question with another f***ing question? Because I'm about to break something Ana. You cannot be serious. You cannot go to Virginia to fondle fifty men."_

 _When she spoke, her breath reached him fractionally before her words, and he felt her smiling. "It's closer to seventy-five. It's training camp, there haven't been cuts yet." She thinks this is funny? A quick flip and he could spank her into next week. And she'd still be in f***ing Virginia._

 _He leaned against her chest. She'd only shared three facts, he doubted the veracity of each of them, and he was about to ignite. Christian knew every aspect of his anger well, and when provoked, he typically bordered on raging intensity, dulled by narcotics. Very rarely, he drifted into fury. Cold and dark, stunning in its clarity and easy to identify. His nightstand was near by, and the drugs inside needled him, shaved at his control._

 _She's f***ing nuts. He pictured her hands—the long slender ones holding firmly to his wrists, probably to keep him from pinching her face—touching other men, the way she touched that amputee the first day he saw her. He was already squeezing her so tightly, if his grip shifted anymore, he wouldn't be able to understand her. Ana, I love you, don't leave me. "I liked it better when you were asking the questions."—_

 **~You're Mine~**

They have an insanely fun to write exchange. Christian is really upset she's going to be with all the big burly NFL guys and he thinks that now he can keep her from going. Ana totally stands up to him. I love it. It's also sweet in a couple ways. Christian says he's never shared that intimacy with her before, the massaging, because he has issues with being touched like that. Ana misunderstands and says you f**** me senseless, which feels kinda intimate.

There's a pretty great lemon, where Christian goes way way out of his comfort zone for her, but still asserts a little dominance.

Lastly, he falls asleep and when he wakes up much later, he realizes, that Ana has marked him up with a pen again.

PROPERTY * O F * A N A

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 19:: To Say Goodbye is to Die a Little**

Christian and Ana go back to her apartment to pack because she has to leave Sunday night. Of course, Ana attacks him and it's a little impulsive and dirty. Christian is freaked by his slipping control.

Christian discovers a lot of recording equipment in Ana's spare bedroom. She said it all belonged to her father.

He drove her to the airport, and they shared a non-goodbye because Ana didn't like goodbyes.

— _Christian felt her chin quiver against him as he lifted her up. Then he was lost. She kissed him with purpose, and her soft lips felt different, like she was expressing sorrow and hope at once. God, she slayed him. She smiled against his teeth, hitching a breath to hold herself back. When she licked her lips, he felt it deep in his soul._

 _He kissed her the way he wanted to, the way she'd moved him. Like their kiss was a shared promise they took turns holding. Like she was life. Like she was the only living thing between him and a black void of meaningless space, spiraling further away down a narrow path of nothing. He felt himself die a little._

 _Little minx. She shifted, and she was fast, nipping under his jaw where his chin met his neck. She bit down a little and sucked a lot, rubbing his stubbled flesh with her tongue. His knees buckled and he groaned._

 _She buried her face in his neck and inhaled so deeply, he felt like she took a part of him with her. He felt her tears against his skin. It was so intimate and so unexpected. Like everything she did._

" _Hhmmm. Don't do any practicing while I'm gone doctor. You're good enough at kissing already." She giggled and his every nerve ending sung out, don't go, please baby, don't go. He squeezed and held her tighter, opening his eyes slowly. He responded to her wink and let her slide down him to stand._

" _It's you, Ana. It's kissing you."—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 20:: Two F***ing Weeks**

Christian spends the rest of late Sunday afternoon on the Grace with Elliot and Felix. The history of the three men's relationship is discussed. Also, their finances are discussed.

Felix is skeptical of Ana's new found prominence in his life.

Elliot discusses Christian's complicated life with him.

 **. . .**

~*~Fun flirty texting alert! ~*~

Ana and Christian start exchanging texts. She sends him a racy photo.

I love this chapter, because it's full of Felix and Elliot and some wonderful text exchanges.

Ana is aware that a stranger showed up at the door at the end of the chapter.

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 21:: The War Within**

Christian and Ana enjoy an awesome phone conversation while the man, Luke Sawyer, walks around his place.

Christian goes outside to his balcony for privacy, and upon hanging up with Ana finds a young falcon perched on his table. He has a flashback to Afghanistan, a smoke and soot covered falcon was there as well. He remembers more about the events of that day.

Eventually, Luke and Christian talk. Luke is a sober companion hired by Elliot to help Christian recover from his addictions, his dependency on narcotics and sleep agents.

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 22:: While You Were Sleeping**

This chapter gives me all the feels and the giggles. I love this pair.

Late that night, Christian is not ready to tell Ana that he hired a sober companion. So he tells her that Luke is with the Seattle Police Department, and while he may be considered a suspect, he and his attorney filed papers to get him protection, because he may be a target.

. . .

Monday morning, Christian and Ana enjoy some fun FaceTime. I love writing these two together. Sigh :)

Here's some fun banter, and a little bit about Leila and how he is going to survive for two weeks.

And secondly… his phone buzzed, a new text from Ana.

— _Did you taste your flat white yet, doctor? —_

She attached a closeup of her chest covered in a too tight top. Ana's chestnut hair cascaded around her neck, the word Redskins emblazoned across her breasts, an ample amount of cleavage peeking out from below the shirt's deep neck.

— _Ana do not send pictures of yourself to my work phone —_

I'm likely to poison patients.

— _Why not :( —_

— _Too much room for error… I use several phones and I would hate for an image of you …_

He didn't get to send it.

— _How's a video? —_

Four seconds… four f***-ing se-conds of Ana's index finger tapping her abdomen, her round hips swaying, her c*** covered in very skimpy shorts, leaving nothing to the imagination. Except maybe where Christian's tongue best fit.

Jesus, she's killing me. He turned his chair away from the door, to hide his blush and adjust himself, the heat from his racing pulse forced his lips into a devilish grin of possession. This naughty girl. His breathing was shallow. Where was Luke? Christian didn't want any eyes on him right now.

— _Is that your work outfit, Ana? —_

It wasn't what she had on this morning.

— _Oh gosh sorry, I didn't think about that? ;o —_

— _I made the video this morning, before I got to the training center. —_

— _I'd never Christian. I promise. I'm for your eyes only ;-P —_

She added the damn smirking emoji again.

His fingers hovered over the keys. My eyes only. Two weeks was impossible. He sent a quick endearment back to her and dove into his schedule. How could he manufacture time to get to Virginia?

. . .

As he read Leila's letter for the fourth time, still trying to wrap his mind around what she'd written, his cell beeped. Ana…

He hadn't even registered the time. Late, really late for both of them.

— _I took these pics Sunday, after our shower. You said the sweetest things to me, and I just wanted to capture all of it. There are so many things I want to say about how I feel about you, how you make me feel. But I don't have the words, or the guts lol. I hope you don't mind, but I kissed every inch of you while you were sleeping. xoxo Ana —_

A series of bloops preceded picture after black and white picture of Ana's pale skin, her wet hair, and her beautiful face poised above him in his bed, she was a shadow draped over him where he slept. Her puckered lips, still petal soft even in the photos, touched his eye lids in one, his lips, his neck in another, his chest and hands too. _How?_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 23:: Dr. Elliot Grey**

On Tuesday, Christian finally agrees to meet with Elliot for advice and treatment. I wouldn't know where to begin with an excerpt. I loved writing it, and didn't realize what a great impact casting Elliot as a therapist would have. It's a good read.

. . .

Christian cannot survive the two weeks without Ana, so he devises a surprise for her. He invites Ana to go on a trip with him on Friday, he can't be away from her. Here's a little of that phone call.

—" _Ok. Good. And I mean obviously, I can't wait to see you, but I need to stress that we cannot run on your spiritual time tomorrow. We have to stick to a strict Eastern daylight savings time clock."_

" _My spirit time? What do you mean my spirit time? I am—"_

" _Ana, since I've know you, I've never seen you in the same place at the same time two days in a row."_

" _That's it. You are stalking me."_

" _No, it's that… Sweetheart, you beat to a different drummer and it's well, it's cute and sweet. But Friday, it won't work."_

" _Real time. Not spirit time. I got it." She giggled and stopped. Surely she was biting her lip. They'd been talking for several minutes and he never once pictured her sucking it._

" _I'll text you the details, baby. Have a good afternoon."_

" _Wait, Christian?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _Again." She purred. "I want you to surprise me again. Because you are constantly surprising me. And…"_

" _No, Ana. You are the surprise of my life."_

" _Friday" quivered out of her mouth._

" _Friday."—_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp 24:: Property of the NFL Part 1**

The fun really begins. Christian finds Ana lurking in his closet, wearing her Redskins cheerleader uniform, and you can guess where that leads.

. . .

Late Thursday night, he and Luke bond on the overnight cross country flight. They arrive in Richmond, VA early Friday morning.

 **Excerpt:**

" _I can't wait to see you, Christian." Ana was on the phone while he was packing. To see a woman. He must have looked like a cheesy f***er, smiling like an idiot._

" _Baby, your boss was fine with it? What's his name?" She didn't answer. "Ana?"_

" _No, he's not fine with it." She sounded defeated. "Whatever. You let me worry about it." She hesitated. "I mean, I could lie to you, and tell you everything's okay, no one is scrambling to cover for me, but I won't do that. I'm going to avoid it, and say, let's not talk about it. Because I desperately want to see you too," she sighed. "If there were another way… There's no way you can come here. It's just too complicated and—"_

" _Ana, we're the same. I don't want to spend the weekend away from you either. You don't have to protect me. I think I made my position clear last weekend, when it comes to your pretty hands, where I want them." He'd marked her hands and she in turn marked her body for him._

" _Your position? My oh my, Dr. Grey, the things I could say about that." Her lovely laugh mocked him. "I assume no hints, right? You're not going to tell me where we're going?"_

" _No, baby. I'm not." The plans had changed only hours earlier, he was surprised himself. "You can trust me, it'll be good." He opened another drawer, "Actually, I had incorrect information for you when we spoke yesterday. We are going to a different location."_

" _That's a relief, because the last location was so run down. Thank god you found a new location." She paused, then said, "You're terrible. I want to know where we're going. You haven't even told me what to wear—"_

" _Do you have a dress, baby? You should bring one. Otherwise, it's very casual. Bring clothes for doing things outdoors."_

" _Yes, I have a dress."_

 _Good, she had a dress, at training camp. "Wait… why do you have a dress, Ana?"_

" _What do you mean, why do I have a dress?"_

" _Well, you're at training camp, right? What purpose would there be for you to…" Show off your pretty legs, grant easy access to wandering hands._

" _Shut. The f***. Up. You're crazy!" Sawyer had walked in, and talking and waving his hands at him in horror, whispering and motioning for Christian to shut it down. "What are you doing?" He mouthed._

 _Christian waved him off while Ana spoke._

" _Christian, I don't spend all my time in track suits and team gear. My uniform has to come off at some point." She sighed with humor. Mother of God, she can't be so simple. There was noise on her end of the line. "It depends on what position I'm in." She purred, to tease him._

" _Ana. God, you kill me…" He sat down on the end of his bed, and motioned for Sawyer to leave. "You really are something else."_

" _What I am, is yours." She hummed her affection. "Now. A dress. Anything else? What are you wearing anyway?"_

" _Ana…"_

" _Christian?" He was speechless. Maybe he moaned. "You liked that didn't you? My being yours?"_

" _Mmm. Very much, angel." More than you know._

" _I like it too. I like that you're mine. And you're so easy to lo—look at."_

" _Speaking of uniforms, Ana. Please don't wear any Redskins clothing this weekend." He dismissed Luke's cocked eyebrows. Don't worry hot shot, I know what I'm doing._

" _First you tell me I run on spirit time and that's a negative, and now… what? I need to dress to impress?"_

" _Baby, you could pull off a burlap sack."_

" _Christian." His name in that voice, that raspy lilt that communicated so much more. Tomorrow can't get here fast enough. "I'm confused. So I don't have to dress up?"_

" _Right, I'd like you to wear a dress for… baby. I'll text you ok?"_

" _Do you still have my tattoo?"_

" _What?"_

" _Property of Ana?"_

 _He chuckled and said, "It's really faded. You can mark me again, though. Preferably while I'm awake so I can reward your efforts."_

" _Interesting."_

. . .

* * *

 **Chp:: 25 through 29**

The rest of the chapters, 25 through 29, are my best writing. It's difficult to summarize them. If you've come this far and you like my Ana and Christian, I think maybe it's better to read the chapters. LOL

They are very romantic, at times hot and bothered by each other as only Ana and Christian can be, always flirty and fun. I think I succeeded in making them moving and full of action with lots of juicy plot details. With their separation over, Christian and Ana share so many great moments together. Luke is there too now, and other important people making appearances, with their own agenda, and interacting with Christian and Ana. Christian's big surprise is revealed. It's huge. Ana has a mini-freakout.

Good thing Christian is there for her. They make love several times, deepening their connection, confessing feelings and growing closer as a couple. To me, it's some of my best writing.

Thank you so much for taking a chance on The Sandman.

 **See you soon.**

 **Don't forget to follow and favorite. And review.**

 **It's the only way I know if you're enjoying the story :) xoxo**

. . .


	31. Chp 31 Kunduz

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you for the incredible feedback. You guys are the best, your reviews and pm's are such an encouragement and fuel me to keep writing.**

* * *

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 31 — Kunduz**

 _Friday, August 11_

"Sawyer, I'm feeling vulnerable," Christian deadpanned, "I need a place I can be alone with Ana. Can you figure it out?" He eyed the bodyguards and secret service huddled in the periphery, just leaving dinner.

Luke stared at him. Incredulous. Christian's eyes pleaded.

"Alright. Fine!" Flustered didn't cover his reaction as he traipsed off. "Wait here." He called back over his shoulder, "You two are bent."

Less than two minutes later, Luke was back with two keys, and a frown.

"Down that hall, second door in the left. This key to open, this key to lock from the inside. You have five minutes, ten max."

"Luke—"

"Go. And don't lose these." Christian swiped the keys, not even bothering to hide his glee." I'm not your Madame, dickhead. So you and your appreciation can fuck the fuck off." Christian laughed at that. Luke half smiled, then ignored him. "This will cost you."

Christian motioned with his head for Ana to come over, leaving her spot where she lingered by the band. They slid into the small telecom room without fanfare, secured the locks, and Christian pounced.

 **. . .**

"Ana…" He smoothed his fingers down her throat, letting his thumb rest in the notch at the base. He pressed down, capturing her mouth at the same time, restricting her air. Her body was perfect.

"Tonight at dessert…" His fingers snaked around to the back of her neck, and he fondled the first two bones there, her atlas and axis. "You were pushing me… Hmm?"

"I was. Yes." She bit her lip, nodding. He felt it against his chin.

He towered over her, and he had plans for them, images danced in his head of quelling the ache in his chest, his needs short circuiting the gentle lover he was trying to be. But none of it mattered. She was in control, she was the axis, she held them up,

"All I wanted to do was drag you across the table and ruin your lips."

Her whole body responded and a soft moan escaped as he sucked on her mouth. He kissed her, tasting her desire as she laced her arms around his neck.

He was high. She was his aphrodisiac. Space and time evaporated and he fought the urge to claw away her pesky clothes. Fuck, he had to change plans.

"Ana…" he kneeled down as he lifted her dress, and she was naked between her thighs. "Where's your underwear? Jesus, you're…" he cupped her, rubbing his longest finger along that sweet spot behind her hole. He rose up and pressed himself flush to her, pulsing his hand while they kissed again.

Ana sighed her approval, rolling her hips. "After we whipped the cream, I was needing you. And I didn't think—" Christian parted her with his thumb, "Oh god. That feels good. Mmm."

"I think you're misinformed, goddess." He smiled against her, ghosting a kiss across her mouth. "It's 'oh, Christian.'" Her writhing was contagious, so he rubbed his stubble over her ear to take the edge off.

"I had foresight, ahhh, to take off my panties again." She giggled and bit his ear. "Did I surpri—"

"Did you mean it?" he asked. Teasing her, two fingers pressed down firmly, moving more slowly than her pulse.

"Did I mean what?"

"What you said at dessert?" She swallowed, whether to stave off her release, or hesitant about her answer, he couldn't be sure.

"Yes." She sunk down, trying to capture more of his hand. "And… Christian, you looked hot sitting across the table, telling that senator to go fuck himself." She bit her lip.

"I love your dirty mouth, baby."

"You mean this one?" She sucked on his lip. Jesus, her teeth had a line to his groin. When she released him on a pop, the sound made him falter as he worked to free himself.

"I love what comes out of it." He kissed her long and hard, taking himself in his hand. "I love what it's made of." He held his hand up for her lick, she hummed against his skin. Such a tempress.

He groaned, "We only have a couple minutes, and I need inside you. Now."

"Mm, yes. Please." Ana mumbled another affirmation but she was needy, panting, even desperate. Her sweet whine did something, flipped a switch, and he wanted to push back. Her little silent performance teasing him.

He stepped back, stoking himself, other arm outstretched, his thumb still pressing down on that perfect jugular notch. He kept her an arm's length away, and felt his stomach churn as Ana gaped at the rise and fall of his hand.

She scowled and closed the distance, taking the base of him in her hand while she climbed him, her calves on his thighs. She sunk down and arched back, her perfect mouth announcing her first climax. Could she be any more perfect?

"It's going to be fast and hard, baby."

 **. . .**

When they emerged from the room, and walked back down the grand hall, several guests turned to them. Christian's smirk evaporated. He maneuvered Ana until she was slightly behind him, and shrugged off his regret. He couldn't control himself around her, and now, his selfish needs had risked exposing her and their amorous adventure to these leering dipshit politicians.

He pushed it aside, when she suggested they go for a walk before heading back to Red Oak. He'd agree to anything she asked.

Luke tried to re-insert himself as they departed, but Christian shook his hand and said we'll see you later. He and Ana had settled on a moonlight stroll around Camp David.

Christian even came up with a destination. They would search for a falcon's nest. Earlier, Christian had taken note when a French diplomat mentioned it at dinner.

 **. . .**

"Christian, hey look at me."

They were on a short rise a half mile from cabin village. An MP had passed Christian a flashlight as they left Aspen Lodge to help them navigate the darker paths around the camp. They hadn't needed it, what with the solar lights illuminating the forest floor and the almost full moon bright above.

They followed the instructions from the Frenchman, and headed toward the skeet shooting range, taking a turn down a stone lined path toward a pine grove. Beyond the pine grove, a clearing opened up and on the north slope, there was a lone telephone pole with a large bird's nest atop.

The moon light cast long shadows from the trees and even their bodies as they hiked the rise. Christian offered Ana a lift, but she tip-toed it up, Christian walked behind her—directly behind her—holding her steady, digging his thumbs into the sweet divots above her backside. He was content, to be with Ana as she laughed and giggled, still caught up in the surprise of their executive getaway, and their very spare, isolated location. "Thank god you're not a serial killer," she joked. He winced, then chuckled behind her.

When they reached the aerie, Ana pushed Christian against the poll, and kissed him. She was on her toes, and Christian still had to lean down to her.

Her sweet sounds echoed around the valley. "I can't keep my mouth from you, can I?" She pulled away, just enough to look at him. She was flush with desire and out of breath.

As the night creeped up, they took each other in, sharing breaths and silent sentiments. The breeze carried her pretty scent past his nose, and Christian bathed in the sensual connection between them.

When Christian bent his neck to kiss her again, Ana pushed him back. "Stay put. Let me stare into your eyes Dr. Grey," she exaggerated his name and he didn't like it. Maybe he did, he felt strange. "The moon, it's so bright tonight, and the reflection," she narrowed her gaze, "it's making your eyes look… they're gorgeous, like smoky diamonds. They're fascinating." She curled a fingertip around his eye brow. "I want to look deeper, deeper…" she clicked her tongue, leaning against him.

His growing smile was cut off by a terrible vision.

"Hey, don't—" Ana's voice lowered. "Don't close your eyes, Christian. I was just—"

He shifted his weight, a dark palpable energy dropped from his throat to his feet. As all the tenderness between them skittered away, his heavy reality spun out into a million tiny shards, gnawing at his insides with jagged hurt, regret, sorrow.

"What just happened? Christian? Hey. Look at me…"

He couldn't, not now. Fucking Christ, this is not my life. This, this is not my beautiful girlfriend. He was going to be sick. Standing underneath the falcon's nest, a hero's medal tucked away in his suitcase, Christian felt his world begin to slide out from below his feet and his skin shifted warm to cold and back.

As Ana told him again how mesmerizing his eyes were, Christian bristled. Like everything else about him, they were a double-edged sword. He could seduce and destroy with his eyes. Manipulate and coerce. Reassure and remedy. Covet and corrupt.

Doctors Without Borders missions were always about the medicine. Always. His diagnostic mind, his abilities as a clinician. Those were her assets. His good looks remained behind, of no use on the war zone operating table, or in a triage tent.

But his remarkable eyes accompanied him on every trip. He made full use of them. They were a diary, what they saw, a testament. To absorb the harrowing environment, to document the clutched hands of survivors, the burns of gun powder, the sorrow and bleak circumstance around him.

Even though he had a scalpel's precision to SEE what other physicians might have missed, Christian's grey eyes were most effective as treatments. He could hold the gaze of any child, long enough for a dozen vaccinations. A look from him could hypnotize a young son long enough for a proper translator to convey a child's newly orphan status, or elicit a confession from a traumatized daughter.

That piercing stare from his pale grey eyes—they could use some food-coloring Andrea once remarked—dazed even the most panicked sons and daughters. They spoke for Christian, when language and pain interfered.

Injured soldiers and war casualties surrendered to his impatient eye roll. A wounded woman allowed almost any procedure once he held her gaze in his. He knew this.

Sometimes the silent secrets that passed between the doctor and his patient where the last they'd ever know. Knowing this, Christian made a practice of pulling out the best memory. He listened with his eyes. He spoke in glances.

It became a game almost, looking deep in suffering brown eyes clouded by fear, capturing trapping a story from their lives. Once his, Christian could retell it as he wished. Embellishing and extending, like a scrimshaw worker, adorning a long ago lost bone with a delicate and somehow satisfying motif.

Christian, you're scaring me. Please, talk to me. What just happened? What are you thinking about?" Her voice was muffled and began fading as he decided to tell her. Here, at fucking Camp David. Now.

"Ana, in Afghanistan… in Kunduz, when bombs hit…" He was doing this. He was saying it out loud, something he'd kept hidden. Buried, locked away forever, the nadir of his life. And the reason for everything.

He exhaled, and took her in one last time. She was so pure, and blameless. He held on, to a fleeting vision of his life with Ana, the possibility, a portrait. It hovered in his mind for a minute, then burned out, overexposed. He felt the fire in his bones when he started talking … "When bombs drop, in a dry corner of the world, discarded and forsaken, fire comes right behind."

"Christian…" she knew what was coming. Ana straightened herself to hear it. His confession.

"It was a terrifying feeling. To know what was happening." He swallowed, half hoping his tongue would follow down his throat too.

Somewhere inside, his new optimism rose up—it was the Ana effect. He laughed to himself, and he heard his brother, Elliot.

 _If he was going to really try with Ana. If he was going to deal with his demons and move past a life of control and denial. The upside… to use Elliot's cornball term—the bliss. He had to confess everything to Ana._

"When the bombs hit, it only took a minute to realize that the building, _our_ hospital, was already partially destroyed, and that there was a lot of death. Nina and I—"

"Nina?" she asked.

He closed his eyes and felt a treacle of ice cold shame shiver down his spine. _Nina._ His stomach knotted with regret. Did Ana need to know? Could he confess what he'd done without telling her about Nina?

Nina was from before. He never wanted to tell her about Nina. Not that it changed how he felt about Ana, but it would hurt her, knowing that Nina had been in his life. Who she was, what she'd done. Hurting Ana somehow seemed worse than telling her about his scars, and his story would devastate her.

Fuck my life.

"Ana, everything that happened. It was my job, my burden. But…" He covered his mouth, weighing how to sugarcoat it for Ana. "There was a woman. A woman who was responsible for this award being given to me."

"Nina." He nodded.

"Yes, Nina Petrova. She was…" _a former dancer…_ "from the Ukraine, and the principal masseuse for the Bolshoi Ballet. In the off-seasons, she worked for MSF."

"What did she do?"

He contemplated what to say. Rubbing his tongue inside his mouth, he bit his cheek and groaned.

"She wasn't a physician, she was part of a longer tour. She was there in support. In support of the doctors." Christ, his chest ached. "Taking care of the doctors."

He couldn't look at Ana, instead pulling her into his arms while she processed what he'd said. Nina was the last woman to lay her hands on his body, to massage him. He knew what Ana was thinking. _This other woman massaged your body, and you won't let me?_ I'm an asshole. I'm not going to change.

Ana looked sad. Resigned. Staring off somewhere behind his shoulder. "She's responsible for all this?"

Christian confirmed it. Ana nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know. It was a long time ago. Eight years. I was twenty-five, too young to be making the decisions I had to make."

Ana's shoulders rose on a massive inhale, and then she was resigned. Even offering a tiny smile.

Her chin quivered, even though she tried to hide it, and she felt so fragile. His resolve wavered.

Christ, everything is about to go up in flames, because if she is this upset about an ex-girlfriend, about Nina. She is going to lose her shit when she finds out who I really am. What I did.

 **. . .**

"It was still dark out when the airstrike began, a twilight attack. Skirmishes up in the northwest district had lit up the skies all night. A big insurgency was being pushed back by a couple local militia. There was chatter overnight that the Taliban had brought in some heavy artillery, which meant air attacks and US involvement weren't far behind. The running joke was that half the people on the streets were military intelligence or CIA. These huge warplanes were part of the routine.

"Nina and I were dusting each other off at 5:30 in the morning." He smiled. "Our housing was only a few blocks from the hospital, and the sand from the walk over could really build up." He pictured tiny Nina shuffling her hands through his hair, shaking out the wind dust.

"I knew there was an MSF meeting, but we running were behind."

"It was shocking. We heard the rumble, the sinister noise, but the bombs dropping—I'll never forget that sound. The warplane bombed our hospital while we were standing on a street corner, five hundred yards away, laughing about grit, the sand in our pockets, out of harm's way. We took off, racing toward the flames.

"We knew immediately that the main building was partially destroyed. And the fire was coming. Nina and I headed to the MSF administration office, a makeshift annex on the building's east side. Our main staff were there… What was left of them anyway. Rudy and Claire, our admin team. They were already in touch with American military command, letting those assholes have it. We're a goddamn safe haven. Fuck that human shields buillshit. They weren't supposed to hit us. The bombers had our coordinates.

"After that first bombing pass, we heard the plane circle around. This was a motherfucking warplane, Ana, a killing machine." He swallowed. "There was limited time before the whole building ignited. By the time we got to the… that command center… more bombs hit. I heard them say we were a hospital. And they repeated the code we had." Ana looked at him.

"It's like a secret pre-arranged handshake to give to the generals, or the CIA, so we can operate without fear of… fucking being torched." Ana nodded.

"Rudy told us that twelve of our doctors had been killed in the meeting." Christian couldn't control his anger, letting it linger in between then. "We grabbed walkie talkies and started barking orders. Our mission was to get everyone out. We passed dead people, others were huddled in corners, cowering, or running and screaming. It was mad. My colleagues were dead, and I knew staff needed direction, a calm voice with instruction and hope. I started talking, and didn't stop. When we made back outside, the main hospital was engulfed in flames.

Christian thought about the falcon's nest above him, and that falcon in the ash all those years ago. He looked at Ana, and tried not to lose focus.

"The hospital had a bunker. We moved through the Emergency department and triage, taking medical staff and critically ill patients there as quickly as possible. The plane had moved away but we could still hear it in the distance, barely. Everyone else, still in the hospital was left exposed to the coming fire. The screaming and retching were deafening."

He paused, each memory, the retelling, brought him closer. What to reveal to her? Try to keep to telling her the facts, nothing else.

"The politics were always grey, but that's our mission. We were an advanced treatment center, the only one. We took everything and everyone, we didn't care about militants or Taliban. Or grandfathers or pregnant women…" He stared off. "We treated everyone.

"We moved to the intensive care unit, which was close to catching on fire. Dozens of people were fleeing around us, we called out directions and paused here and there to administer whatever was within reach. It'd been quiet for a few minutes, maybe twenty, and the evacuation—the screaming and crying, had died down a bit. We were succeeding at evacuating everyone. We moved methodically.

"I don't know how we did it. Nina was so fucking buttoned down. Not a sliver of emotion ran through that woman.

"I remember she took my radio from me and adjusted the volume. I didn't understand why, until I looked down and realized I was covered in smoke and blood. I swallowed a mouthful of it, and my voice… it was gone. It felt like swallowing gravel to talk, and I couldn't hear myself over the din of the tragedy."

Ana reassured him, pointing out in her sweet way why it was alright. "Your voice is what got me."

"Yea?"

"Yea, that first day Christian, I heard you whispering with your grandfather. And… in the elevator. And when we were in the gym that early morning, and you talked to me, you were all sexy sweating…"

"Sexy sweating? That's a thing?"

"It's your thing, doctor. Yes."

He tried to force a smile, but he couldn't.

She traced his lips with her fingers. Barely making a sound when she spoke next. "God, that first night I stayed with you. That amazing night. When we watched the snoozeville film you made about the IV drip thingy…" She bit her tongue when it slipped out of her mouth. "Mmm, Dr Smooth. The tone of your voice sounded so different, it was just—"

"Ana."

I'm not trying to minimize what happened, I'm just saying. It's a part of you. A very, very okay-with-me part of you." Her smile could have been pity or tragedy. But he took it as a smile.

"At least thirty minutes had passed since the first bombs."

"On my fourth or fifth trip up from the bunker, after I'd confirmed the majority of patients for the damaged wing were safe, I made my way back up to the emergency room, up past the front of the hospital to get a better gauge for how far the walking patents had managed to get away from the hospital. I looked for Nina," he was worried about her, but why go there, "so we could get started evacuating those still inside.

"She met me there, and the sickening sound of the warplane drowned us out as we started for the units of the hospital that had remained in tact…" His voice faltered. "The wing were the ambulatory patients were… the maternity patients."

Christian's eyes went to Ana's. On reflex, his mouth curled up toward his face, as though he could smile back the stinging in his eyes, the fucking horror that was coming. Ana shifted, the discomfort in her face, on her rigid body was obvious.

He leaned away and rubbed the back of his neck. He scrunched his face up, to give him what, he didn't know. He didn't know how to tell the rest.

"That plane… you know it's called the Spectre? It was back, it seemed like it never left. It was hovering. Some cocksucker, an American patriot," he snarled, "was on board that thing firing a 105 millimeter canon at us, while the sun rose. And the damn plane attacked again. It was a precision attack, no question. We had to take cover, what choice did we have?

"My head was ringing, I could barely make out shapes at first, the concussion was deafening or whatever it's called… The adrenaline was so intense, I had no capacity to hear my own thoughts." I wasn't thinking clearly, my symptoms screamed shock, but I'm not going to admit that, I'm not running that bullshit by Ana.

"The moment the plane's sound began to fade, we ran out from the attack to rescue the new casualties. The alarms and frenzy around us were disorienting, but it all calmed in an instant. We looked into the maternity ward, and it was on fire."

Christian's body went rigid. He'd never discussed this with anyone.

"I don't know what happened next… Nina disappeared and I ran to get the women." He knew where she was. He'd sent her to the pharmacy.

He was sick. Agitated. Growing more uncomfortable with himself by the minute. Ana cooed sweet words, but he didn't want them.

"Let me finish. I want to finish.

"There were twenty-two women in the maternity ward. It was an open unit, a central intake with six rooms. Obviously, there where several women in each room.

"The unit was bombed intentionally, Ana. The crater was in the fucking center of the unit. Completely chaotic. Four nurses lay dead, blown up in the blast, covered in debris. But the patients—my fucking god—the women, Ana. They were alive, burning to death in their beds, on fire, screaming and wailing.

"They had been spared—if you want to call the gory aftermath being spared—but they were covered in plastique and it burned. Like napalm. It was fucking indescribable, the room was fucking hot and the smell… the intensity that made the room fill with inhuman sounds.

"It was so blown out and out of control, I didn't recognize anything. But I felt every pair of eyes on me. I froze. For a split second I wanted to die. I wanted to inhale all the acrid smoke and burning fumes, lay open a vein and bleed out beside my friends. Nina had to—"

"You were in shock."

He glared at her. "No Ana, I was death." _I wasn't human anymore. I haven't been._

He pivoted around her, moving off, and she followed. Slipping her fingers into his belt loop to hold on to him.

"It was disturbing. Maybe… thank god the unit was so murky and full of smoke, I couldn't see the scale in one take. I saw it in small—"

"Christian, it's alright."

"Ana…"

"Ana, I killed those women. I killed all of them."

"What?"

"I was… I tried triage… I picked one room to start, and I tried, Ana, I fucking tried… so goddamn hard. I started CPR on one woman and her face literally melted off in my hand. She was so hot, in an instant, my skin fused to her jaw bone."

He couldn't hold back his disgust. Bile and regret and self hate were suffocating him. He wheezed out, cursing himself, his fucked up life. He'd never be enough for her. Fucking killer, shit coward. Accepting all the awards and medals, the fucking hero… it was this.

Ana tried to hug him, but he pushed her back.

"No!" He wiped his face. "Nina came back with a rucksack. Full of drugs. It was so fucking awful, the violence… Their bodies, the screaming and crying. They could see me. They were begging. Flailing and desperate."

"You're a good man, Christian." Ana was sobbing, "Please stop. You don't have to tell me. I don't need to know. I lov— I am here for you. I … it's okay." She threw herself at him from behind.

He shrugged out of her arms and looked hard at her, menacing. "The first woman pulled me against her, to cool her skin, her fucking mangled black flesh smelled awful, her face was covered in vomit, but she was moving for me, pulling on me… to do… just do something.

"And Nina handed me a syringe. I don't know if we even spoke. I don't remember it, Ana. I took the woman's life. I filled her body with 2000 milligrams of morphine and watched her quit breathing. I watched her lungs… stop."

The universe around them was still. Ana's tears bled down over her face in silence, collecting under her chin.

"Nina." He whispered. He stared into Ana's eyes, his own expression dull. I dare you to listen. I dare you to watch me confess. "Nina tried to keep the women in some kind of … order. I don't know. A protocol of killing."

"Of mercy, Christian." Ana begged.

He shook her off. "I… with the vials we had, I moved to the second mo… mother. She was worse off, thrashing and jerking, in cardiac arrest." Ana was clawing at his shoulders now, wanting to hold him.

"Ana, I can't tell you. I can't tell you all of it."

"Christian it was a war. You were in a war."

"Shut… Don't do that. Don't excuse me. These scars? These women didn't want to die. They wanted to live. They wanted their families and their lives back. They clawed and scraped and pulled me. Three women broke their, their…" he stuttered out his confession, "f-fingers trying to fight me to help them."

"Christian—… How—"

"Ana…" he couldn't look at her. His body was on fire vibrating, the pressure in his chest was crushing his heart, his lungs. And what didn't press down, tugged at him, tugged with a live footage that made him want to shed his skin, leave this place and spend forever in Ana's arms. Even entertaining that possibility in the midst of his morbid reality, set off a soldering chain reaction, and he became all too aware of himself. His failing as a man, as a doctor. To do no harm. He didn't heal any of them.

He stared at her then, and raised his hand between them. She shook when he rubbed his fingers over the skin below her Adam's apple. It was subtle and warm, he could just make out her heartbeat over her jugular. "Later, when I was suturing my… injuries, I found their nails buried in my skin. Two women, the morphine was so fucking wrong, Ana, then went into anaphylactic shock—"

"Stop!" She pushed on him, but left her hands on his shoulders. "That's enough."

"Ana?" He took a step back, her warm hards felt wrong.

"Ana" She covered her face and let out a long peal of sorrow. She was about to collapse.

Christian grabbed her. Hugging her, completely quiet. A low building pain simmered in his gut as he tried to find air, his lungs became to protest, and he held on to the grief. Until it was too much, a high pitched keening, changing to a squeezed cry, and finally he howled in grief. Ana's body molded to his and she comforted him, her face brushing his sternum back and forth. Her own silent sobs, a refuge.

"After…" he spoke into her body, his lips on her bare shoulder, holding Ana as tight as he could. Crushing her against him. "After, I went outside. I was cut up, burned and bleeding. Nina went… somewhere else." Christian licked his own tears from her hot skin. "I think she was terrified of me," he confessed.

He sniffed with self-scorn. And exhaled a huge sigh, forcing up a derisive laugh. With her head tucked under his, he confided in a whisper, "It's not often you see a monster. Someone you thought you knew, and then… to see them transform in front of you into your worst nightmare. She left."

Christian looked at Ana then, and wondered. Her pale blue eyes had shifted. Her tears made them darker, with a deep green ring around them. Those eyes pierced through him, full of grief, leaving a gash in his soul. She'd never see him the same again. Coming here was the worst fucking idea he'd ever had. Before she was a question, and now, she was proof.

He was still shaking, at war and peace with himself for revealing it all. "I treated myself, eventually. And Nina dealt with the UN. She made it all go away. And the fiction was born. Christian Grey is the savior of Kunduz. Bulldoze the bodies to a mass grave, spread a little limestone, raze the hospital and destroy the evidence.

She cupped his face and waited for the rest.

"I don't know. Maybe… for a few fleeting minutes… I wanted to kill Nina too." Ana stiffened in his arms, trying to wiggle free. Christian crushed her wrists in his hands, pulling her arms around him.

"She may have thought that. Being a witness to what I'd done." He looked up to the sky. "It feels like she was the terrorist that day. My fucking terrorist." His face twisted in irony. "I didn't know it at the time, but her lying, she spared me a literal inquisition before the UN." Ana nodded, smoothing hair back from his head. He tugged away from her affection.

"Last week, someone killed Leila and you show up, Ana, ready to lie your ass off for me. Protect me from the consequences of who I am."

"I told you, I know who you are."

"Yes, you did."

"And I'm still here."

He said nothing.

"Why is that, Christian?" _You have a death wish, baby._

Still nothing.

"Christian?"

"Let me just be. Can we do that right now?"

"Yes, but…"

"Christ Ana, can you fucking just stop fixing me for two fucking minutes?"

"No! Because… It's legal! It's legal for doctors to give large doses of narcotics to relieve pain. Even—"

"You're a doctor now?"

"Even if—"

"A lawyer? You're going to quote some fucking statute?"

"Christian, it's legal to give a person who's dying— _who's suffering_ —it's legal to give them… 2000 milligrams of morphine even if a known side effect is a quicker death."

He shook his head, he couldn't let her in. Not on this. She'd already fucked with his head too fucking much.

"It's about intent, Christian. Look at me." He pulled her hands down, digging his thumbs into her wrists, holding her away from him. He couldn't even look at her. What didn't she understand.

She wrestled her hands free, and grabbed his face back, trying to force him to look at her. He didn't, he squeezed his eyes shut, willing this moment to be over. Make her shut the fuck up, his fists were primed at his sides, ready to fight.

"Christian? Baby, what was going through your mind?" They were both laboring to breath. "I think I know." She whispered. "I think I know everything. Just like the president knew. How can you not know? How can you not see?"

"See what Ana? What can't I see?"

"That you're the angel?"

 **. . .**

Their driver dropped them off at Red Oak after 11. Christian was nervous.

Ana had been quiet on the short ride over. She had both her slender arms wrapped tight around him, and right now, he felt like her embrace held him together more than his own skin.

He goaded her, frustrated by her reticence. "I shouldn't be with you. Can you see now? How I'm just hurting you with all the bullshit I've been feeding you? That we might be together." She just pressed against him.

Eventually, they made it inside the luxurious cabin. Christian locked up and followed Ana into their bedroom. She grabbed onto his belt to steady herself as she removed her shoes.

Her mouth was a straight line, while her guarded eyes studied him. He felt scrutinized. But on the other hand… maybe it was… that he found a mirror with her, she was looking for something from him. She hadn't spoken since she'd tried to absolve him of his guilt, but the silence was uncomfortable, it needed filled with… something. _She has an opportunity to run now, let's see if she takes it._

He was impatient, and he couldn't stand her disciplined silence. "Ana, you're so quiet." He stared at her, but she gave away nothing. "You're an amazing creature. Do you know that? I don't know what I was thinking." He knew, he fucking knew. "I… and I don't know what led me to poison you with my damaged soul."

Her furrowed brow, but her annoyance didn't stop him. "I'm stealing from you. I'm going to take your innocence. You offered it, Ana. And I know it's not fair of me, to ask this of you…"

"Can you please fucking stop!"

She stepped out of her dress and twisted his shirt over his head, pressing her flesh against him as she slid her hands up his outstretched arms. Her face was busy, marking his torso, her emotions insistent. He willingly gave into her needs as she chewed on his ear and whispered his name deep down inside. She'd pushed him back on to the bed and settled herself across his lap, mapping his skin, his hair, his face.

"Stop saying such terrible things about yourself, Christian. It's a bad habit… how you paint such a desolate portrait of yourself. I wish you could see what I see. How beautiful you are."

He tried to summon a protest, but her words felt real. They settled inside him, and wound their way past his reflexive defenses, settling in his heart. She really thought he was beautiful? The past twenty-four hours had effected him deeply. He wanted to believe her, wanted to listen. Willed himself to listen.

"Christian, 'what makes the desert beautiful, is that somewhere it hides a well.'"

He stared through her then. He had to smile, he understood. And fuck he knew more than he wanted. Ana Steele was a once in a lifetime person. "You lovely thing. I adore you." She hummed in appreciation.

He brushed her hair over her shoulder and kissed his way to her throat. "Who said that?" He kissed her mouth, rubbing her lips with his to make sure it took. "About the hidden well."

"I don't know," she laughed, her mouth tickled. "I'm saying it to you."

"I like it. The imagery." He shifted Ana until she was straddling him, hovering above. "I think you're the well, Ana. You feed me."

"I like that too." She took his face in her hands as a misplaced emotion glimmered through her eyes. Then it was gone. "I hope you're always thirsty."

"I'm fucking parched." He kissed her. "Dehydrated." More kisses. "Close to desiccation." He kissed her again, or tried, but this time, she licked his mouth and groaned with pleasure.

They kissed for an hour, or maybe five minutes, but their kisses matched his feelings for her. His absolute surrender to her body, her soul. Hope, possibly… bliss consumed him.

He closed his eyes, once he'd memorized her absolute joy in the moment, at being with him. As a new word circled around, Ana's body tremored with need. His synapses shifted and pulsed as the warm balm of love between them caught him by surprise.

"Ana." He stopped her wiggles, and ran his knuckles down her face, pulling her head against his. "I never expected this, what's happening between us. I've told you everything now. I have no secrets left, baby. This is all of me. I want to give you all of me."

The softest moan escaped her and she shifted her body, arching her back. On instinct, he pulled her beneath him. Ana stared up at him and through a shaky breath spoke as he leaned down to kiss her.

"Christian, make love to me. Please."


	32. Chp 32 Don't Silence Your Heart

**Author's Note: I am blown away by your response to the last chapter. Thank you!**

 **. . .**

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 32 — Don't Silence Your Heart**

 _Saturday, August 12_

" _Ana"_

Christian moaned sometime in the middle of the night. To an outsider, it didn't appear to be a nightmare. Maybe night sweats, or detox. He didn't even have a fucking clue. But he wanted it to stop. His body betrayed his mind. _Fucking swallow._

"Ana what did you do? Baby, I can't... I can't breath." Those were Christian's last words before he seized with a full body rupture of violent broken sobs. He was wet, his body thick and too warm. He couldn't control his pulse and his head pounded so hard he thought he might be convulsing.

He tried to shove Ana away, not wanting to hurt her. But he didn't reach her. _Where was she?_ He feared if he passed out—fuuuuuck stroked out—he'd never awaken.

Ana scoot backwards off their bed, planting a kiss in the middle of Christian's chest, slipping on her underwear. She hustled to the entrance clutching her phone, wrapping herself in the mammoth sweatshirt Christian had given her on the helicopter. Before she turned the doorknob, she spent scant seconds taking one last glance back through the cabin to confirm Christian wasn't going anywhere.

She flung open the front door and almost jumped out of her skin when she saw a shadowy military guard motion to attention just beyond the porch light.

She hesitated for a moment, then blurted out that she needed a ride to Hickory Lodge. With a nod, the pair were off, hustling to the golf cart.

Camp David's main building was a hive of activity, lit up and crowded by middle of the night standards. Ana hopped off the cart before it stopped and she moved smoothly toward the entrance. More security stopped her progress, and hushed murmurs were exchanged as she made her demands.

It grew quiet then, as men with guns slipped in and out of the building, confirming protocols, assessing risk, seeking approval for her requests. Ana swayed where she stood—seemingly unaware of her appearance—half-dressed and barefoot. Her loud breaths fought with the chorus of crickets mating in the dark blanket surrounding her, so she didn't hear but rather saw the confirmation when the secret service detail finally let her in.

Once inside, she was ushered by her elbow toward the guest suites. Then she was alone, pounding with her hands and voice against the door to Luke Sawyer's suite.

"Ana, what the fuck?" Luke Sawyer winced at the bright light behind and his brow furrowed, disturbed or puzzled.

"Luke—" Ana choked, "I need…" Behind him, a pair of curious feminine eyes peered over his shoulder, black as coal.

Luke seemed un-phased, rubbing a hand across his bare chest, pursing his mouth. He tilted his head and took in Ana's appearance. She was barely covered up, more skin that fabric.

"Luke, please help me. It's Christian." Ana huffed out. "I'm… scared. Will you come with me? Please."

Luke, _the man_ —not the out of work actor who had no business playing a hero, not the recovering addict turned wayward 'sober companion,' who was hundreds of yards away from his client, not the pretend 'police detective' doing a piss poor job of faking close protection—Nope.

Luke the man, hesitated, looking behind him at his piece of ass. There wasn't an ounce of fat on her. Her ebony buzz cut was a striking contrast to her pale, almost chalky skin. Keeping Luke's torso in her grip, the woman moved to the side, to let Ana pass into the suite—better to continue this inside. When the woman leaned forward to bolt the door, the bed sheet she'd wrapper herself in slipped and Ana caught a glimpse of her tattoo. A naval air squad insignia snaked around her ribs.

"Please, Luke. He's in trouble." No other words were exchanged, Luke kissed his fingertips and pressed them against his guest's lips, lingering momentarily. He grabbed his jacket and a small bag. Holding Ana by the shoulder he marshaled her back outside.

They rode back to Red Oak in Christian's gold golf cart. Ana told Luke what she'd seen and answered his questions. As the cart approached, Luke hopped off, running to the cabin to get to Christian. The front door stood open where Ana had rushed out.

Ana kept going. She had another destination. Briefly, she argued with the escort, she could drive her own fucking gold cart thank you, insisting she wanted to take care of things alone. But she got nowhere. Frustrated she acquiesced and let him drive her back to the tarmac. Back to the helicopter. She glanced at her driver, noting the butt of his gun where it stuck out from his hip while he drove.

Ana had more demands, even if she couldn't navigate around Camp David, the President's Private and Secure Compound, she was reminded, by herself. She reached forward and let her hand hover over the two-way radio.

"No report, alright?" They locked eyes and he slowed the cart. "Do not say a word. Understand? You know who I am." The officer nodded all business. Ana swallowed. "I'm here as Christian Grey's guest."

Once she reached the helipad, another officer approached. She explained herself in hushed tones and with a curt nod, he opened the pilot's door of the Eurocopter Christian had flown less than twenty-four hours ago.

Ana bounced through the cockpit, unaware of the show she was giving the US military, and moved to the triage station inside. She quickly found what she needed and shuffled back out. She thanked her helpers and, hugging a giant blue duffle against her, she slipped back into the golf cart.

It was foolish to interpret her silence, her singular focus. From outside appearances, she was a woman on a mission. She didn't have time to consider how exposed she was, or her distraught demeanor. Didn't have time to worry what conclusions others might draw.

She didn't have time to process her appearance. She probably didn't give a damn, although to anyone, it looked like she was having trouble seeing. Her eyes were bothering her, evidenced by her constant squint. She looked like someone who could use a good pair of glasses, and some sleep. But her tears were very real, and they were non-stop.

Time pulsed slowly, and the path back to Red Oak seemed to stretch out for an eternity. Ana mumbled out loud, helpless, at the mercy of the sounds of those nasty perverted crickets, "I can't believe this happened. Today was everything."

 **Christian's dream**

As Ana's sleepy breathes grew lighter, blowing across his chest… at first tickling, then trailing off, as she faded away to sleep, Christian's mind slipped out from under her cocoon, where he laid knotted beneath her warm naked body. He slipped into the dark veil of his dreams.

His last conscious command was to listen to his heart. It fluttered and burned, growing and throbbing up against his sternum. His heart was full of the future, of possibilities and love. That feeling faded out too, his pulse wound down, and he slept.

Then his memories had him. The evening's earlier events crept in.

Christian was back at dinner, staring down Senator Winfield, whose voice was a fuzzy monotone.

The Senator words were clipped and harsh, as they argued over MSF, vaccine pricing, and big pharma profits. Christian listened as he droned on about medical research and fair market structures.

Fuck it, he really didn't listen this time, while he dreamt. Instead, he was annoyed by the woman sitting next to the Senator—his wife. Oddly, like some ventriloquy trick, her mouth was moving, parroting everything her husband said.

Christian's mind clouded, her sexy mouth, hell it looked… He felt no desire, but he sensed… an awareness of her lips. This was fucked up. How…

Even in the murky shroud of a dream, he was disconcerted, his throat tightened like setting cement.

Christian spiraled down further into his corrupted imagination. His body shook and the too familiar odor of fire and death consumed him. Those euphoric feelings he'd savored and swallowed eagerly—the cherished sense he felt making love to Ana—slipped away and he was exposed.

"What's wrong with your voice, Dr Grey?" the Senator asked. A wicked grin on his face.

"Excuse me?" This asshole.

"Your voice." Winfield made a motion over his throat. "Are you mocking me?"

Christian just looked at him. He'd never had such a strong visceral reaction to a person before. Except… Maybe… Fuuuuuuck—he wanted to wake up… lewd, dirty scenes flashed through his memory. A gross moment of some prick Dom jerking off, he came all over the face of his semi-conscious submissive.

 _Holy fuck!_ Christian moaned in his sleep. Is… Is that where he'd seen the wife? Had she been at The Drone? Had she subbed for him? _No. Fucking. Way._

The Senator was talking again. "You sound strange, Grey."

Christian finally swallowed and said through clenched teeth, "My throat was burned in a fire in Afghanistan."

Senator tilted his head, an illogical tremor passing across his face. He looked like an imp. " Felix Ramal warned me about you."

Liar. "I know Felix, do you?"

Through the hollow din of the dream, the Senator lashed out again, "You're nothing like your brother."

"We're adopted you dipshit." He coughed out and then he _finally_ found Ana's hand, wrapped tight around his neck, holding him to her in her sleep.

Her small whisper scraped down his ear canal. "This is all because you killed those women, isn't it? The senator knows."

"Ana—"

The dream shifted and Christian willingly succumb, because he knew Ana was there. His Ana. The woman who'd confessed her love.

A menacing figure, or more an image in his mind, whispered behind him. It was fear…

' _You're in danger. You're sober.'_ And it was true. He knew, he fucking knew immediately where his mind was headed. The images and sensations where going to be intense. Winfield may have mocked his voice, his own toxic exposure, the broken membranes of his throat. Christian wasn't floating in the dulling safety of a narcotic stupor.

He fought the fear, the dark cloud. Because Ana was there. Stay with her, she's real and nearby, safe and sleeping on top of me. He had her love.

He breathed, rolling warm oxygen from his lungs up over his throat and mouth. And he exhaled, releasing himself into the fullness of this recurring dream he knew was coming. For once, he embraced the journey into the dark recesses of his sub-conscience. He knew Ana was there, waiting for him. To slough out the pain.

It began. He was back in that meadow, and the fire raged. But when Ana approached him tonight, she waded to him in her own tide. Small lapping waves of salt water, her shadowed form framed by a foamy surface and the deep blue sea. Her swells of water cooled the flames that heated the air around them. She never caught fire, she didn't fade into ash. Instead, she embraced him.

Had she said she loved him? Where was her voice?

' _I love you'_

She'd mouthed it, across a crowded dinner table, like some dumb fucking puppet. Had Christian put those words in her mouth?

In this dream he could hear her, as she reached up as far as she could, balancing herself on his feet, an intimacy he never imagined sharing. He shuddered at the feeling.

"Are you the Sandman," she whispered against his chest, "Are you the Sandman?"

His reaction caught him off guard and he lurched forward, almost knocking them both over. But she pressed her hands against him, holding them both up. He held her perfect hands against his body, and he broke down.

"I have so many problems… so many… I euthanized twenty-two people in a hospital and it wasn't even a war zone. It was a mother fucking hospital and I killed them."

Ana took a step back, cautious, her affectionate gaze gone, replaced by shadow and doubt. And fear. "What about Nina? What happened to her?"

Nina was… He was in such a fog. He wanted nothing more than to wake up, to scream out his feelings again, to see Ana, to touch what was real and what was illusion.

"Ana—"

"What did she look like?" She licked her lips and turned away, trying to pull her hands from his hold. "Did she look like the others? Did she look like me?" Her questions were rushed and garbled out between her sorrow, her quiet tears and angry eyes.

Around them the atmosphere shifted. They weren't in a meadow anymore. The weird quasi-ocean that Christian had imagined surrounding Ana, it was rising, soaking their bodies, a chill set in between them.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to clear the images of Afghanistan, the odd freezing waters that lapped over his skin. He tried to clear the images of Ana's heartbreak.

 _Wake the fuck up!_

When he reopened his eyes, he was still asleep, under the nightmare's spell. They were in his bedroom. He had Ana pressed against a door where she'd tried to flee. Ana was trying to catch her breath.

Christian's patience snapped. _What the hell?_ "I know what you want, Ana. You want to know about my past, about my fucked up life. What is it Ana? Do you think that somehow if you know about it, you can feel better knowing you will eventually need to leave?"

"I want to know about Nina, about the others. The other women."

"You want this? This is what you want?" He squeezed her wrists between his fingers, high above her head, stretching her length until her chest pushed out, brushing across his middle. She cried out, protesting against the forced position.

She begged him. "You're doing it again, to me now. Aren't you? Those newspaper clippings… It made you sick that Susannah knew about Afghanistan. You wanted to punish her. You wanted to beat the shit out of her!"

"What? No, Ana! She wanted it."

"You admit it. You beat her senseless."

"Ana," he pressed himself against her stomach, needing the contact, her warmth, to fight the sickening chill that prickled against his skin, splintering down beneath muscle and bone, into his soul. He panicked. "You're twisting my words."

"No, you're finally admitting who you are."

"Ana. Don't." He pressed his whole body against her, and rested his cheek against the top of her head, panting, confused and desperate. "This is why. This is why I let you go. This is why I walked you back down to your apartment last week. I knew you'd see the real me. The monster, and I couldn't bear it. I couldn't…"

"Are you going to kill me too? Is that part of your plan…"

She didn't stop. She went on and on. Confirming the truth. Wave after wave of words that undid him, took him further and further off course, away from her.

 _I want to be faceless and bodiless and left alone._ NO he didn't No. No no no. He wanted Ana, he wanted what she offered, every fucking day since he'd met her.

He fought the panic, fought against the deep chasm between them, the chaos, the churn of misunderstanding and her frozen truths.

Why fight it? He relented. His fingers responded first, releasing her arms.

 _What was the point of fighting if he'd already lost? Didn't she understand?_

He simply wanted her. He simply wanted her silence. He simply wanted to silence her.

"Oh god" he thrashed and wailed. "Not Ana!"

Christian stared at the ceiling fan above the bed as he continued to catalogue his physical situation, and attempted to re-assemble the past few hours. He exhaled and inhaled, remembering their intense love making, and falling asleep _in a bed_ with Ana for only the second time ever.

Then that abomination of a nightmare hit. _And now?_

Ana was gone.

Vivid images of Kunduz flickered through his memories. He was alone. Again. Things change and things stay the same. Recursion was a bitch (dumb cliche).

He felt his pulse in his throat, and slowed his breathing to bring it down. He crossed an arm over his face, hiding in shame and loneliness. Where had she gone? Was it the dream, or had Ana done something to him? He didn't know. Didn't trust himself to put the pieces together.

Everything with Ana was so intense. Even breath, every exhale, _everything_. He needed to find a normal space with her. _What was normal?_ That was the problem with her. As things were, he was always gasping for air around her. He rolled his eyes, feeling the slow release, the return to normal.

Even now, he was literally gasping for air. Where was she? She didn't have her own cabin to escape to—like some recovering contract he'd spanked raw. Had he touched her? He couldn't be sure.

 _Christian_ … the sound of his name echoed behind him, somewhere in the orbit of his coherent self.

 _Christian._ He heard it again, and the sound was closer, delivered from a vaguely familiar voice. Christian sat on the side of his bed, hands braced on the mattress, shoulders hunched in defeat. He kept his head down to fight the vertigo and tried to summon his own weak-ass voice.

Luke Sawyer called his name once more as he entered the room, just as Christian looked up, a sweaty disoriented mess. He knew enough to know Ana was gone. _Wise woman._

"Luke? _Ah… fuck! Luke._ " He shook with exhaustion, and leaned forward, covering his face in hands, his fingers sliding into his unruly hair, his elbows resting on his knees.

In a quick appraisal, Luke had already surveyed the moonlit scene and didn't see any evidence of narcotics or alcohol.

"Ana paid me a visit a few minutes ago."

Christian didn't say anything, the lingering effects of his dream where clouding his waking memory. What was real, what was the dream? Did she flee in fear? Christian didn't dare ask.

Luke flipped on a bedside table lamp before he set his bag down and moved to grab one of the arm chairs that sat in front of the fire place. Maintaining a deliberately neutral, though considerate gaze on his face, he set the chair down directly in front of Christian and took a seat. He offered his hand in greeting. Christian slapped it away. Luke was really trying to gauge any lingering shake in Christian's hand, his wobble.

"Good," Luke said out loud. There were no tremors.

"What's going on Doc?" He dipped his head down, trying to read Christian's eyes. "It's the middle of the night. You've got Ana all worked up, pulling my ass out of bed."

Christian didn't say anything.

"Your medal not shiny enough?"

"Fuck you Sawyer."

Luke shook his head. "This better be damn good. I left a sexy little secret service agent alone in my room." He looked pretty fucking pleased with himself. "Admit, it's a first for me. I might have to kick your ass if this is a false alarm."

"You're here twelve hours, and you were getting laid?"

Sawyer laughed while he leaned forward and slapped Christian's shoulder. "And you weren't, hot shot?" He shrugged off their unspoken guy code. "I got some news for you."

"You do, do you?"

"Yeah. This whole detective charade is pretty funny." His chiseled face looked contrite. "The guys know who I am. But they're entertaining me, they're good sports about it. You need to send them gift baskets."

"I'm not sending the secret service fucking gift baskets. I'll end up on every watch list in existence."

"Anyway, they treat me like any other bodyguard or functionary. They gave me a couple updates earlier. Krystal sent you a message on Signal."

 _Jesus, he needed a break. All the fucking drugs._ He was done with all of it. His body jerked in defeat and he tried to summon an ounce of appropriate concern for Krystal fucking Devine. He wanted to rest, to rest between Ana's legs, on top of her, beside her, inside her. He needed Ana. Where was she?

 _Wait, the secret service was dealing with Krystal?_ "How'd they get it? A message from her?"

"Do I look like I would know how to hack your phone?" Christian shrugged, maybe he did. "They… give me… the messages." He squinted at his phone. "Actually the message came in from Dr. Grey, your brother. _'Krystal is ok'_ is all he said. And Andrea called, everything is fine. Zachary moved to the step down unit. So you're good there at work." He studied his phone, looking as though he was weighing whether to share the next bit of news. "Felix left with Sophie because—"

"What?

"Yeah, Sophie went to stay with Felix at his townhouse."

"Fucking Felix."

"I can't want wait to meet this dude."

"He's not much of a dude. More like a—"

Sawyer was exasperated. "And you're still a prime suspect in a murder."

"Thanks." Christian's widened his eyes, processing and shocked into awareness… Even this awesome day hadn't changed his circumstances.

"Where is Ana, Luke? How long has she been gone? I'm worried…"

"I don't now where the fuck she went off to. But she better get back soon. I left a hottie—"

"A _hottie_ , Luke?"

"Yeah, a great piece of ass."

"Does she have a name?" Christian surprised himself with his concern.

"Chloe. Her name is Chloe." He looked at Christian and froze his face, eyes bulging, "At least I think that's her name."

Christian opened his mouth to chastise him, but Luke kicked his foot. "I'm kidding. I know her name… well, her first name."

Christian chuffed. "You're a pig."

"I was a very happy pig, until your girlfriend's ass dragged me out of bed."

"Look, I'm sorry about that, she's just…." _Everything._ "Her default mode is healer, she can't help it. My nightmare must have woken her, I don't know."

"Funny. Because, she doesn't give me the healer vibe."

Christian skin crawled at the inference, "Sawyer, no vibes. Do you hear me? No fucking vibes between you and Ana. Christ—"

Luke held his hands up. "She's yours man, you're a lucky guy. All I'm saying is… she doesn't remind me of a massage therapist."

"Really Sawyer? You're a fucking expert… what do you know about them?"

The fucker grinned. "Quite a lot actually. I'm an actor, I'm part observer, part analyst." He frowned his conclusion and shook his head before he rolled his neck around. "I've probably had more back massages than any other man on the planet." He shrugged, while he sucked on those ugly white veneers. "She doesn't have the temperament."

"What the fuck she's healing me!"

"I think that has more to do with _her_ than her profession. Don't you? I mean it's _Ana_ that you're dating, right? That you're falling in love with. Not the massage therapist."

"If I can't get my shit together, she won't be my girlfriend for long. Give me a minute."

Christian took a deep breath and straightened up, his eyes followed Luke as he retrieved his bag. "Fucking nightmare, Sawyer."

"Yeah?" Luke handed Christian a bottle of water and held his hand out, palm open. Christian winced. "Christian… maybe it's time to take something. We can talk about… whatever is going on… now, or in the morning."

Luke was offering relief. Five pills, two varieties. Three looked like mint skittles and made Christian laugh. Two looked like Viagra, which made him think of Ana. Christian chuckled. _My fucking life._ He took the three Librium, but left the two Klonopin alone. He needed a dozen. Luke nodded.

Christian stood again, and walked to his bathroom. "I'll be out in a minute."

Luke followed him, eyes on his hand, which he immediately shot up, fingers spread.

"Back off Luke." He sunk back, clutching the pills, his back against the wall beside the bathroom door.

Something in his features moved to alert, and Luke changed gears, straightening up, a conspiratorial smile ghosted his face. Christian was being handled. "I can't man, Ana showed up in a sweatshirt, all weepy and long legs. She kiboshed my night. You're stuck—"

" _Your night?_ Your deep sleep? You mean your meaningless hook up." Christian moved to pace, ground himself in the present, agitated that Ana was wandering around alone in the middle of the night.

"You wound me. Sure, it's a hook up. But it's more than that."

"You're so full of shit. I knew that about you, just didn't think you'd be swinging your dick around with all the firepower out here." Christian stopped, he was hearing something. "What do you mean all long legs? What are you talking about?"

"Her sweatshirt," he laughed with his head thrown back. "'Property of Christian Grey' You're fucking hilarious. Do you give those to all your women?"

"Luke you better shut the fuck up. What was Ana wearing?"

Luke's eyes widened as he looked past Christian, directly behind him. Christian turned too. And he wanted to weep she looked so small and broken. "Baby—"

She dropped her bag and held her arms out. She was wrapped in his in two steps.

 _Thank you so for reading and reviewing :) xo_


	33. Chapter 33 Soul Fucking

**Thank you for your patience.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

.

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 33 — Soul Fucking**

 _Saturday, August 12_

"Ana's sweatshirt?" Luke laughed with his head thrown back. "'Property of Christian Grey' You're fucking hilarious. Do you give those to all your women?"

"Luke you better shut the fuck up. What was Ana wearing?"

Luke's eyes widened as he looked past Christian, directly behind him. Christian turned too. And he wanted to weep she looked so small and broken. "Baby—"

She dropped her bag and held her arms out, he took her in his in two steps. "It's okay, I'm alright." He held her against his naked torso and time passed.

Not tuned in to the crushing peace in front of him, Luke carried on about how put out he'd been in the middle of the night by two horny teenagers, grabbing the bag Ana had dropped when she rushed over to them and setting it down in the chair he'd moved by the bed.

"Alright Mr. Hot Shot," Ana spoke while she stared up at Christian, not even looking where Luke stood behind her. "You can go on back to your Rangerette. I've got it from here." She winked at Christian.

Luke swayed then stared at Christian, looking for his client's all clear sign apparently. Then he moved back to the door with a wry smile, maybe it was more of a smirk playing across his face.

Christian managed to look up in time to catch it when Luke mouthed _you love Ana_. Christian rolled his eyes. Her arms were snaked around his neck and Luke's eyes zeroed in on Ana's ass. Luke face deadpanned to Christian, _as if to say see what I mean?_

Finally, he clicked the door closed behind him, leaving the couple huddled in the middle of the bedroom. Christian's nightmare was long forgotten. And wasted no time getting to the bottom of Ana's disappearance in the middle of the night.

He stepped back a few paces, aroused at her barely chad body, but put off by her tears. "Ana, why are you crying?"

"It's okay. I was worried about you."

"No… Ana, I…" He stepped further back. "It does something to me when you cry like this. I don't like it. I want to fix things. I want to fix _it_. Why are you crying baby? It was only a nightmare. It's over now. I'm fine."

Her hesitancy made him nervous, and when she reached for him, he held up a hand to emphasize distance.

"But… I cried earlier today, on the tarmac. You…" She lowered her voice. "And then when you told me about Kunduz."

"That was different. Ana… Those tears… they held sorrow. And loss. You were sad about your dad dying, and you were uncomfortable to be here. It was thoughtless of me to try to surprise you. I'm sorry for that." He reached out to smudge a tear away from her cheek and pulled back for fear he might squeeze her jaw too tight in his grip. "Tonight on the ridge, when I told you what really happened, you were offering me… Damn it, stop moving closer, Ana."

He shifted uncomfortably as Ana wiped at her tears, still breathing hard, approaching him an inch at a time. He looked away. "Ana, tonight you were comforting, those were all tears of sorrow. Of loss." She moved forward, he froze. "Now, Ana…"

She pulled his hand to her face, and held his thumb against her cheek, rubbing her wet lashes across it. "Ana, don't. These tears… they are tears of fear and pain. I can't…" She sucked his wet thumb into her mouth and shook her head. She was a temptress.

Jesus Christ, no man could maintain control around this woman. "Ana, I don't like seeing you scared around me. In pain. It's not who I want to be and the. . . There are… impulses I have to exploit it."

They stood that way, staring at each other as the mood shifted. She let his hand fall back to his side, all the while his tingling chest thrummed a fast heartbeat and he inhaled shaggy breaths. He took another step back.

"Christian, you are… what are you thinking?"

"Ana, back off. Please. I want you so fucking much… but, I feel too fucking greedy right now. Your tears. I'm afraid I won't be gentle."

He was against the wall now, and still she moved forward. He spread his fingers across her face, holding her there, then pressed himself back, rubbing her tears between his fingers. "You can't fix me."

"I don't… I don't want to." Her voice faded off. "I don't need to." That's a thought.

"It's after midnight baby. Where were you? I brought you here to be with me. Not to traipse around in the middle of the fucking night. Exposing yourself to how many men? Men with power." He sneered. "Summoning Luke out of bed."

"He wasn't sleeping." Ana interjected.

He shook his head. "Ana—"

"I was…" she looked over her shoulder, then turned back to him, her heaving breathes slowing, her demeanor calming. She stood so close now, he felt her chest graze his middle as he hardening length pressed into her.

She arched her neck to see his face. "You look alright." She swallowed. "And beautiful." She kissed away a bead of sweat that gathered in the enter of his chest, murmuring to herself.

When she looked up, her eyes pierced him. She was on fire, ablaze. She licked the moisture from her lips. "No one has ever seen you like this? I'm the only one."

If he could have opened his mouth, he would have told her he wished she'd be the only one forever. But his saliva had turned to glue, and he could only flex his jaw and nod.

She rolled her lip between her teeth, and made a subtle sound of need, but moved away toward the large duffle behind her. The distance chilled his flesh but he took a sharp needed breath.

"What d'you got there?" he thumbed away some invisible sleep beneath his eye and motioned around her body.

"Stuff." She shrugged.

He half smiled and looked at her. He didn't like her shift. Still fogged by his dream, Ana's sharp rebuke _are you going to kill me too_ —even though it was his own hallucination, that she thought he could hurt her—even though it was isolated to his imagination, it stung. He didn't want to touch her yet.

So he didn't. He watched. She was bent over the big bag that Luke had set on the chair for her. Her movements forced her sweatshirt to ride up and her flirty lace boy shorts teased his libido. Finally, he noticed the blue and yellow John Hopkins medivac logo on the bag she was digging through.

"You went to the helicopter?"

"Yes." She didn't make eye contact.

"By yourself?" He shifted but he wasn't going to approach her yet.

"I had an escort."

" _In that?"_ His voice cracked. He could see the curve of her ass. The dimples at the top of her thighs smiling as she bent down to grab a metal can that fell off the bed.

"Christian…"

"I can see your ass, Ana. My ass."

"I was worried about you." He finally met her eyes, and she looked different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but a spark snapped through him and his hand twitched. Fuck that shit.

"I'm sure every limp dick on this base appreciated your concern for _me_."

"It's the middle of the night. I'm sorry," she exhaled, then resumed digging, setting items against her chest, holding them between her chin and arms.

 _Any other woman…_ he dropped the thought, it was useless. He'd have to figure out something else. He'd been worried about her. When he awoke, he immediately thought she had left him, finally getting a clue about what a fucked up weirdo he was, and she'd fled.

It was a herculean effort, he chuckled to himself, to accept that his girl had really run around the base in her panties. How could he really be mad, when he pictured her clad in his "Property" sweatshirt while she motored around in a gold golfcart bearing his name as well? He bit his lip, wondering if she was going to comment on the sweatshirt. Had she even noticed?

God, he was relieved she came back. "Are you going to tell me what you have there, Miss Steele?"

"It's the emergency evac bag from the helicopter." Her hands were full as she slinked back to him.

"I see that." He knew every item in that bag, and a flare of emotion went off inside him. Christian slid down the wall, coming to rest below her.

Ana stepped wide as she stood over him, straddling his thighs, making room for his long legs where they stretched out across the cotton rug. As she sank down to sit across his knees, she dumped the items she'd been carrying onto the floor beside them. He didn't take his eyes off her.

She hesitated, shifting her long hair behind her, looking over the pile of medical supplies, then turned to him.

Their bedroom was mostly dark, with the soft white overheads from the bathroom's vanity casting a veil of light. The wide sliver illuminated her natural beauty.

In her current position on his lap, Ana's eyes shone bright. Her face was different. She looked at him like she was reaching through a deep chasm of ice, and Christian was lying at the bottom. Her pale blue eyes pierced…

Her _eyes_ were different. Another color? Sage. Or Jade. As if all the blue had seeped out into the dry tears that lined her cheeks and chin. Even in the lateness, her verdant eyes made her look like a new woman entirely. He tilted his head to understand.

"What is this Ana? No drugs, do you understand?" His entire being was remarkably calm. "No sedatives."

"I know. What about oxygen? Simple O2? I wanted to give you a massage and before you say anything…" She held up a tubed mask and a small canister. "I was freaking out, okay? You were thrashing around and of course I knew you weren't going to want to take a sedative." She paused. _She knew. She fucking knew about his… Does she know everything?_ "And I wanted to help you relax, to find peace from your dream." He wondered how is this perfect creature still here?

He sat still as he spoke, not trusting himself to _not_ damage her, when all he wanted to do was crush her to him. "Nothing short of a sedative-induced light coma is going to stop my nightmares, Ana." She frowned. "But I appreciate your concern." He smiled shyly.

"Geez, it's not concern, Christian—" she hesitated. "I wanted to give you a massage, but I want you relaxed. I figured out a workaround."

"Ana—"

"Yes, Dr. Grey. I'm going to anesthetize you."

They both froze at the implications, and the seconds stretched.

"I thought you left me. I thought," he rubbed his face quickly and cleared his fingers through his hair. "I figured it was all too much. And when Luke came… Christ, how much fucking drama can you and I create together?" He laughed and Ana took her hands in his.

"So no oxygen?" She looked up through her eyelashes.

He shook his head. "I was worried that telling you about Kunduz, about all the death, the blood on my hands. You're the first to ever know. I've never spoken out loud about it." He sighed, tired of the past. "I thought you were gone."

Ana didn't reply, she just massaged his hands and wide palms, sending circuits of desire zipping up his arms, his mouth twitching for contact. She licked her lips, while she worked over his long fingers. "These hands," she was really committed, her body rocking in rhythm to her rubbing hands. "They are pure, Christian. You have healing hands."

He hummed, leaned forward and brushed his mouth across hers, capturing her forgiveness. He tested the truth in her words as he swallowed, but fought back against her one last time. "They only look pure because the blood washes so easily from them."

Ana made a dismissive noise. "Enough of this horseshit. It's done. You don't need to worry. I'll always come back."

She kissed him. A deep demanding kiss full of need and the promise of lusty deeds, leaning her whole body into his, plunging herself into the dark on top of him.

"Will you try the oxygen?" she whispered against his temple. "For me?" She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and bit down. She moaned against him as she twisted her core over his thighs, rolling toward his erection.

He growled softly and grabbed her shoulders to hold her away.

"I won't inhale," he confessed. "I only need you. It's you I need."

Her shy smile and the laugh she held in were everything. "That sounds obsessive."

"It's sounds safe, Ana. Trust me, I'm a doctor." He arched an eye brow, and met her joy, then slowly slid his hands around her neck. He rubbed his thumbs under her chin, and considered her.

"You're fucking incredible. Do you know that?" He pressed his fingers into the hollow of her throat down to the top of her breasts, slipping a finger behind the zipper, forcing an arch from her. He pulled the zipper, and removed her top. Her flushed chest instantly heaved, brushing against his. She lit his skin on fire and he yearned to touch her. His entire body flexed in anticipation ready to be buried again, deep in her sexy little body.

While she swayed with need, he licked his thumbs. He moved his hands over her, up and down, priming her, building her want, squeezing her soft hips. He slid his palms up the curve of her waist, past her ribs. She shivered on top of him and fuck if it wasn't the sexiest thing.

He cupped her breasts, plumping them in his hands. Her nipples were tight. Ana's voice rolled out a soft slur, as he sucked a bud deep in his mouth. He laved her other nipple with his thumb nail, then caressed the wet tip. Thrusting up into her core, he pressed her breasts together and blew lightly over her sweet tips.

They were panting in unison. Holy fuck. She was so damn responsive. He closed his eyes, wondering how long she could last. Could he fuck her all night, until the sun came up? He almost laughed at how free he felt.

They stayed close like that for some time, kissing, sucking, teasing each other. Delaying the satisfaction they both craved. The release they needed to share.

"Baby, I have a serious need to watch you make love to me." She was practically vibrating.

With both their faces wet, and Ana's capacity to maintain breaths seriously in doubt, Christian pulled back, and shifted to remove his pajamas. He caught a glimmer of a devil grin across Ana's mouth. Her cheek and jaw, her glistening chin, illuminated by the stream of light behind him, were bright pink, and raw from his stubble. She was marked. Perfect.

He shifted his hips up, lifting Ana as well, and they both sighed when his dick sprung out.

She whelped at the sight of him, and slid back some, quickly bending forward to take him in her mouth and hands, curving her back, rolling her hips against his legs. She hovered, splayed over his lower body, her hair a curtain around his crotch.

He savored her juicy lips and huffed breaths, her fuckable mouth working him over. "You're fucking perfect."

Ana loved him slowly, her pace languid. After an hour, it could have been minutes, her saliva reached his balls, and everything between his legs was wet. Fuck she was steady, deliberately sucking him off, playing with him, in no hurry.

It was torture, and incredible. He slid his hands below the back of her panties spreading her cheeks, lightly fondling the soft succulent skin at the bottom of her ass. His eyes focused on her back, just barely able to make out the vertebrae of her bony spine.

Very lightly, her small hand pulsed around him. "Yesss. Ahh, Ana." His skin was drawn so tight, he could explode any second. What he wouldn't give for a pause button, his senses and emotions were overwhelmed. He began to shift, but her head shook him off. She made a small sound of command, thrumming her fingers in a scale, tapping up, then back down, all along his girth.

He wanted to encourage her with filthy instruction, to bite him a little, or squeeze harder, but she'd known. She sucked him off with a pop, kissed his slit, milking him thoroughly, then rubbed his fat head through her cleavage. She hummed her own pleasure and slurped him back down at a new angle.

"Holy shit!" His hips lifted up, he couldn't stop. And when he felt himself slip past that tight notch at the back of her throat, he knew he'd never get enough of her mouth. On instinct, he tore across the seams of her panties, exposing her wet core.

He cried out her name, God she was soaked.

Ana didn't change, she continued with her mouth her throat and her tongue. Fuck, she had more teeth than humanly possible. And she kept at it, delivering the world's greatest blow job which had morphed into the most erotic scene he'd ever witnessed.

He watched from above, kneading her body, encouraging her. But from the sounds of her moans deep in her throat—vibrating against him, sending pulses to every receptor across his damp skin—she didn't need anything from him.

While she dry humped his knees, his hips pulsed up into her face. And her hands, her magical hands, her noisy wet mouth, continued their epically slow pace. He was coming undone.

Sure the physicality between them was getting him off—his wet glide along her tongue—it was sensational. But it was her gentleness, her connected gentleness that reached deep inside him. He'd replay this…

Fuck, he couldn't take it. He needed to be inside her. So he grabbed her head and pulled her into a soul-searing kiss. With a fever he'd never known, he kissed her face, her neck her ears and temple. So fucking happy and full. He kicked his pants off below her.

"I want all of you, Ana," he barked into her neck. "I need to lick you from head to toe, I want to linger on every soft inch of you, every warm pliable part of your skin from your back to your front." He slid his palms down and parted her thighs, cupping the softest flesh. I want to press my face into you, swallow you whole. I crave the taste of you. On my tongue, on my fingers and cock—" She was shaking and the heat between them singed his throat.

"Yes, _please_." Her plea slayed him. _Please,_ she mouthed again, against his lips.

Later, he'd taste her later. He shook his head, then pressed his nose in her hair, panting. That fucking beg of hers—it owned him.

It was well after 2am, she must be exhausted, and yet, she felt alive in his arms, and he stilled…

The quiet panic, his nightly companion for most of his adult life—it had always been there in the darkest recess of every night, when the crickets were gone, and the vacuum of dread consumed him. When the world slept and the only sound was his own frightening pant, to breathe again, to swallow fresh air.

He gasped. _Relief and solace._ Fucking solace. She'd come to him. Whizzing around on an electric cart in her underwear, dragging an oxygen tank—his breath—around on her hip.

Ana quaked when he pulled her against him, pressing her sweet pussy to his aching cock. She arched her chest into him and turned her hips, snapping forward and back to split her lips around his erection, grinding on him below a guttural plea. Fuck it, he couldn't wait to work her up. He needed her now.

"Yes," she rocked along his length. "Yes, Christian." She sagged and her warm wet core gushed against him. He reached between them and cupped her with strong fingers.

"Christ, Ana." He lifted her swiftly then, and lined himself up with her needy plump folds.

Their foreheads banged awkwardly, they were both too greedy, and then he laughed as she sank down on his big dick. He jerked inside her, ready to explode. She bit his nose and the sensation settled him. _For now…_

His rib cage ached and his blood ran hot, as his heart overheated with love and carnal desire, twisting inside, pushing out of the cage he'd built almost a decade ago. He held on to her soft hair, another attempt to ground himself, to confirm the realness. How many tactile responses could this woman draw out?

"Ana, please move." He winced as he demanded it. She must be raw by now. Tender and wrung out from his cock, from his sexual needs, all the orgasms he'd drawn from her today.

"More," she whispered, as if she'd read his mind. Slowly, she began to move with intention on top of him, gripping his shoulders. Sliding up, holding herself at his tip, then rocking herself down his large length, leaving him shuddering to hold back. Fuck, she controlled him, and she was getting off.

He squeezed her waist so tight, beyond a doubt he'd marked her. As much as each raw sound from her core, each gyration of her hips undid him, he couldn't explode before Ana. "I won't" he quipped out loud.

"You won't what?" she puffed against his lips.

Even the darkness couldn't put out her huge bright smile. He ignored her, fighting the euphoria, clenching his teeth, his ass, bending his knees to move away. Fuck that. He pushed her down on him. Holding her steady, he slid his palms firmly over her hips and fisted the tiny curves.

"Baby," He pressed his forehead against her neck. "Don't move unless I tell you." They were both panting, and he laughed at her jerky protest.

"I'm close, _baby_." She mimicked his voice.

"Goddess, you're going to set me off." She tightened around him, clenching, and clamping with her own desperate needs.

"Fuck Ana, you're killing me." She bit him and growled back.

With his ear between her teeth, she laughed across his shoulder and neck. "That's my secret plan. Death by orgasm at the President's retreat." Her head whipped back in laughter, exposing her neck, her whole being vibrated against him. "Christian…" she shimmied again, trying to steal more friction.

With one big hand, he gripped her tighter to him and with his other he pressed his fingers into the back of her neck, right below her ears. He held her there, staring into him.

"You'll come when I say, Anastasia." She clenched at his deepened voice and nodded against his face.

"Please, Christian."

He thrust up below her, moving deeper, not nearly sated by her throaty gasps. He held her there, stroking that small rough spot inside her perfect body, drawing out pleasure he was sure she'd never had. It was soul fucking.

Their eyes locked on each other. _She was too much. She was enough._ That was his last thought before he drove up inside her again, grunting, pistoning his hips, leveraging his heels underneath them, again and again.

With their gazes locked on each other, he slid a hand down her neck across the silken hollow dip there, all while he pumped mercilessly up into her drenched core.

He squeezed a nipple, eliciting the best purr scream from her, then rubbed her pussy lips slowly with his fingers flat against her, avoiding the little hidden peach, surely hard as a rock, she wanted him to touch the most. She moaned with need.

"Soon, goddess, I want to see you light up everywhere."

Ana cried out, and gulped a breath, overwhelmed. She whimpered and pumped her hips down to meet his every time he slammed into her. Fuck! She drove him wild. And eventually their rhythm, the whole fucking thing between them, pushed all rational thought out of his mind, and he wanted to tattoo her insides with the feel of his cock buried there. She's mine.

"Let go angel, I want to feel you lose yourself." And she did, loudly shattering above him, her sweaty face full of mystified passion as he kept fucking into her. She threw her head back, her sexy sounds churning the base of his spine.

He moved her head so he could look into her glazed eyes while she continued to pulse around him.

His body was about to detonate. "That's it, fucking unreal." He sputtered into her open mouth, their foreheads together, eyes locked, sharing rasped breaths. His hand was around her neck, fingers spread, squeezing in rhythm to her last shallow thrusts.

She angled her head and bit down on his shoulder, which was exactly what he needed. "Ah, fuck, ah fuck…" He gritted out his own awe under her carnal stare, then came too, roaring with a full body convulsion, filling her with his release, bursting heat and joy, emptying every bit of himself inside her.

Ana laughed first. A delicious, naughty cackle, while she declared them a mess. He seized her against him, to fuse every inch of her to him as physically possible. His mind was all over the place, his mouth permanently open with elation, his one hollow chest now stuffed with feeling.

They traded sexy compliments, and he buried his head in her neck breathing her in, partly to anchor himself, and partly to hide his glee. For once, embarrassed by how quickly he wanted to start back up.

He laughed out loud too finally, his body slumping, head tilted back against the wall. He strained to swallow and shook his head, rolling his eyes to heaven. "Holy fuck, Ana." This woman… she's my disease and the cure.

 _Thank you so much for reading and reviewing :) xo_


	34. Chapter 34 A Lifetime of Malignancies

**(Tiny note—Dr. Taylor is the administrator at Seattle General Hospital.)**

 **Thank you for your patience. I know it's been a while, but I'm working on deadlines for some original writings, but I promise I will keep posting until this story is complete. The first draft is already written. And updates should be more regular now that summer is behind us.**

 **I love the journey that remains for these two and y'all need to read all of it.**

 **Enjoy! Oh, this is has not been proofed. Blame... my imagination LOL sorry. Okay, now Enjoy. And massive massive thank yous for all your messages of support and love. I read and respond to** **every one, maybe it takes a couple days. But I love all the messages xoxo**

* * *

.

 **The Sandman**

 **Chapter 34 — A Lifetime of Malignancies**

.

 _Saturday, August 12_

"What are you doing? Are you going to sleep?" Ana shoved his shoulder casting huge shadows behind them as the moon highlighted their relaxed bodies. Christian's eyes were closed above a broad smile that reached across his face.

They were lying in bed in the early hours of Saturday morning, following a quick shower that was all business. Ana was tucked into his left side with her head propped on her elbow, her slim figure partially draped over his. Christian's hand ran tender strokes over her back, never losing contact. Contentment swirled around them.

"Shhh…" he chided.

"Wha-at?" she shook him harder.

"Quiet," he smiled. "I'm reliving what just happened." He squeezed his closed eyes harder for effect. "Every mind blowing detail." He bit his lip and nodded. "Not only are you, and that tight sexy body of yours burned into my corneas, but that pretty little mouth of yours, working me up and down, the way you hummed around me when I slipped down your…"

"Whoa, I get it, Dr. Smooth. You make it sound like I'm your personal little porno."

He squeezed her and pulled her against him, resting his middle finger down the warm divot in her backside. "Mmm yes. That's exactly what I'm doing. I'm developing my own highlight reel." Her head fell into his chest.

He scoffed. She couldn't be shy now, not after that world class performance on top of him. She kissed his chest and flipped her head back up, mischief in her gaze.

Her soft voice got his attention. "I think you're completely clueless about how amazing you really are?"

He looked down at her, the compliment, the accusation confused him. "What are you talking about?"

"I could stare at you for hours, you're so beautiful. Everyone stared at you tonight, even the men."

"I saw you weren't much impressed with Senator Wyatt. You didn't have any tolerance for his bullshit." Ana's body tensed, bristling.

"No, I don't." She kissed his sternum again, her lips lingering, speaking against his skin. "You need to hush now."

"I do?"

"Yes, because since you're not going to sleep, while you're making your pervy imaginary sex tape, I want to finish my own gawking."

"Your gawking?"

"Yes, we've been apart for what… five, loooong, excruciating days. And we haven't really sat down and done nothing since we got here." Christian felt his chest warm at the thought of what they'd done. "Can't a girl gawk at her boyfriend in peace?"

He was uncomfortable with this exchange. His body below hers, her chest across his belt of scarred skin, her face and wet hair stuck to his chest. He fought his impulse to move her to a safe distance.

"Christian, stop. Look at me. You're so gorgeous," she whispered, her words brushing across the light smattering of hair on his chest. "And the things you say… You commanded the entire room tonight, even though there was so much power in it." He felt her neck struggle to swallow across his exposed torso, and he groaned at the closeness. "I'm in awe of you. Because you are ridiculously clueless about who you really are."

"Are you finished? Because I think we need to get to sleep, angel." He didn't want to think about tomorrow, how he would have to share her over breakfast, how they were hours closer to being separated again.

But Ana wasn't finished. She was making plans behind her glassy eyes. With each second that passed, her eyes grew heavier with unshed emotion. "I look at you Christian, and I swear I want cry over how beautiful you are, inside and out. And then and then," she wiped a tear away on her wrist. "I want to touch you, so much." He seized up, not wanting her to talk anymore.

"Ana, don't—" He knew where this was leading. He may be in love with her, but he still had limits.

"Christian, I don't think you understand how much it would mean to me, if you let me caress all of you the way I know I can." She moved to straddle him, but he held her tight. "You're beautiful! Every inch of you. And after tonight… That's not true, ever since I met you, I want to soothe everything that's going on for you. I want to be the woman who does that for you."

"Ana, you do, trust me you do." A massage seemed out of the question. "I don't think I can give you what you want."

"What is it that I want? Do you know? Hell I don't know if I know what I want."

He sighed and kissed his fingers, then moved them to her face, rubbing the affection on her nose. He planned to calmly let her know their evening was coming to a close. But what came out of his mouth surprised him. "When was the last time you gave some asshole a massage?"

"Christian…"

"Well?"

"Stop it. I just want to give you a sensual massage. I don't want to fight with you."

"Then drop it." He'd gotten his way, but made her feel shame for her work. He wasn't proud of himself, but he'd make it up to her, with another round of sex, using his body to deeply penetrate her mind. No, he was going to make it up to her by explaining himself. He'd already revealed his horror, why not just tell her he feared losing her?

"Ana, I want you to touch me that way, to take control of my body. But for as long as I can remember, I've made sure all my relationships… my… arrangements, have been on my terms. I'm in control. This…" he ran his knuckles along her cheek, swirling around her ear to hold onto her slender neck. "What we have, what I want with you. I'm… fucking terrified about what might happen. What giving over the control means." She nodded and he shook her off. "Make no mistake. I know I don't deserve you in any way. I love that you are willing to overlook my damaged self to…" he cleared the ugly images from his mind. "To be with me."

She shifted on top of him, and crossed her hands over his chest, hugging his body from their knees to their hearts. She rested her cheek on her hands. When she spoke again her breath puffed against his nipple. "You don't get it do you? You're an amazing person. Only a fool would push you away."

It was so late, and he was exhausted. Yes, elated and happy beyond measure, but too tired to argue against her anymore. _What was the point of fighting if you'd already lost?_ And he'd lost his heart to this beautiful woman weeks ago. It was as much hers now, as it had ever been his. Their dead calm surroundings only heightened her presence atop him. He flexed his legs, hugging her slim legs between his. Words eluded him, he wanted to slip into a restful dream, never to wake. Well, to wake occasionally and fuck her senseless, to keep her satisfied in every possible way. But maybe tonight they good just sleep. So, he stared at her, took in her presence and the calming effect her body, her sounds had on him.

Ana's eyes were awake with mischief and curiosity, and she looked him over with love in her eyes. She was the brightest light, and he was a fucking sap, satisfied by her simply breathing on top of him in the middle of the night.

"Is that why the bondage and dominance?" She whispered into the night. "To take back, to maintain control?" It was a lazy question, but the topic was dangerous and loaded.

Christian wasn't surprised by her question, of course she associated his scars, his reluctance to give his whole body over to her as part of a power play. What did surprise him was how much he wanted to tell her, to explain himself.

"At first, I thought that. Felix sure as hell thought that, he encouraged it, the control… like… as a treatment for PTSD." Ana bristled at Felix's name. "But over time, and especially since…" _Krystal._ He wasn't, couldn't. He still had no idea how to explain Krystal to Ana. "Over time, and from talking with Elliot, my brother. I… obviously I like to have sex, baby. And I like to be in charge, I'm… bossy."

Her raised eye brows matched his. She smiled a long time, then said, "Yes, you are. You're a very good bedroom boss."

He looked at her, so innocent and eager. Inquisitive. Wanting to know everything.

"Ana, I'll never tell you everything. Some things are just…" His mind filled with images no human should ever witness. She drifted closer to him, to ghost her nose across his, and his mind cleared some.

"Dr. Grey, you flew all the way across the country to see me. To get that shiny medal. You dragged a… a cop with you." She shifted and now was lying completely on top of him, chest to chest, her small body resting against his as close as they'd ever been. "And took your friend's helicopter for a joy ride." Her body vibrated as she shook with humor. "If you think I'm going to place any demands, of any kind on you, you're crazy, Dr. Grey. I just want to know you. Know who you are. Understand." She kissed his chin. And he wanted to tell her everything. "You could never speak to me again and I'd be happy to just sit here and look at your pretty face."

His eyes grew wide, not sure how to take her compliment. He scratched an imaginary itch along his jaw, very uncomfortable.

"I didn't mean that…" Her body had stiffened and her eyes sought his, "I—" he jerked his head up and bussed a kiss against her temple.

"It's okay, Ana." He exhaled, realizing he was going to tell her. "I'm not sure of the sequence, because it's been so long, of exactly how it came about." His fingers played with the tips of hers, somewhat stapled over his torso. "For so long, I've only wanted to have sex a certain way. I can remember the excitement, the allure of a woman's naked body, the warm air around her, and her vulnerably. Her trust in me."

He studied her curious face while he spoke, seeing if what he said aroused her, and he began.

"I was at a club. Felix had taken me." Her chin nodded, he didn't need to explain what type of club. "And I saw this gorgeous young woman. She was bound up in restraints, and initially, when I first took her in, she looked every bit as uncomfortable as you might imagine.

"But she was… delirious from getting off. She'd been spanked too. Her ass was bright pink. When her Dom released her, she sagged against him, completely spent and satisfied, and I watched her face as he treated the marks. How he relieved the ache. An ache that he'd delivered with immense pleasure." He stared at Ana, willing her understand it, to understand him. "There was a balance for the woman, his submissive… a measure of pain, followed by immense pleasure. It was erotic as hell.

"The woman was so… trusting. I was… As a doctor, I _still_ _am_ very familiar with that trust, the trust that my patients—sometimes in severe pain, in some pretty fucking traumatic circumstances—the trust they give me with their bodies, their lives." His thoughts drifted as Ana's shifted her hands under his armpits and squeezed his shoulders. "And sexually, I think I wanted to find others like me, who would trust me, who recognized that balance. That there could be pleasure in pain. And the aftercare, that was incredibly satisfying for me." It was a silent renewal, or rebirth.

He laughed at himself. It sounded like a crock of shit. In the beginning though, he really did live by his own principle of balance, he explained to her. He found over time… that the women with whom he was compatible… "I've always been very passionate, in every way."

"It's one of the many things I love about you."

"Really, care to name more?" She kissed him again, and relaxed more.

"Oh, I don't know doctor, right now your voice, all gravelly and tired, is really doing it for me. And your pretty eyes. Your lips. Your big heart. But that's all you're getting now." Her smile lit up the dark night. "Eventually, maybe I'll think of more reasons why I'm completely smitten, but this is just getting good."

He half-laughed and chuckled in surprise. She was…. "Ana, you like hearing about my past…"

"Your past sexual partners? Pfft. Are you kidding? Hell no, of course not. But the way you're talking about it, with this kind of reverence. That's not the right word. This feeling of completeness. I want to know all about that, it's part of you."

He kissed her. And reset them on the bed, pulling them up to sit against the headboard, cocooning her body between his legs. She laid back against his chest. He kissed along her shoulders several times while she hummed her approval.

Ana sighed against him. "This is… this feels divine." His shoulders hitched at _Divine_. _Krystal._

Ana must have sensed his new unease, because she shifted quickly… "You were saying about the man, how he was nursing her wounds?"

Ana was so intuitive. "Yes, baby. How he took care of her after she was hurt. There was no harm."

"Did it turn you on to hurt them… the women you were with? To give them pain?"

None of his lovers had been too interested in real pain of any kind, he explained. He blocked out Leila and her fucking sick pain demands, Susannah's perverse love of heat play. "No, it didn't turn me on to hurt anyone. The trust they gave me, after everything that happened. The trust to keep them safe—"

"Is that why you beat them?" She held his hand against her mouth, maybe to soften her insinuations. "So you could take care of them too? They would need you? You could fix it, like you couldn't fix your mom?"

He was silent for a minute, thinking about what Ana was saying. The quiet bled out as he thought longer. It seemed like minutes ticked by while he processed her words. Taking care of them? He took care of them? He offered his submissives aftercare? In a way he never got himself as a child. "Fucking Christ! Was that it?" In a way he never offered his victims in Kunduz? He just took their lives.

He pictured the women crying, so hard. And moaning. That made him wince. But caring for Leila, for Susannah—all of them—or even when he held Krystal and helped her through her detox, held her through her tears. He felt like he was taking care of them.

"Christian, what are you thinking?"

The ideas came fast and he felt his body physically react to the revelations he was unearthing. Ana inched away from him so she could look directly into his face. He shuddered at the distance, but the realization, his confession sat on his tongue.

"Ana, my God. My whole life is an exercise in control, baby. Because… because of my mom, my entry into life." He swallowed down thinking he'd bury this one truth. Yet, it was now suspended between them. Her questions, the honesty he wanted to give her. He shook his head, finally realizing who he was.

 _Don't leave me baby, don't leave._ He'd confess and pray to god the purge would follow. _Tell her._ "Ana, I became a doctor to control drugs, to ease pain in a healthy way. Then I went to Afghanistan, and I killed all those women. With drugs. Now look at me. I fuck and beat women so I can take care of them afterward? So I can heal them? What kind of sick fuck am I? Look at me."

"What are you saying? I don't understand."

"Aftercare?" he blurted out. _Oh my god. I'm going to be sick._

He pushed Ana way and moved to the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him. He twisted in his core, dizzied by the reality of himself. The only sounds he heard for some time were his heartbeat, and it's unsustainable palpitations loud in his chest, against his teeth, his throbbing head, and the noise was matched only by his rapid breaths, shallow and clouded with guilt and shame.

"Christian?" Ana stayed on the other side of the door, fucking saint that she was. "Christian what is it?" He felt the weight of her lean into the door that separated them, but she didn't attempt to turn the door handle.

For only a moment, Christian fell into self-reflection. He stared at himself in the mirror, _I am innocent and guilty at once. I beat women senseless for my physical pleasure and theirs, without emotion, to avoid the difficult emotions associated with the women I ended. It's recursive, to quote my dear brother, Elliot._ He laughed at himself. This was a paradox of his own making. _Mother fucking recursive bullshit._

"Christian, I don't need to hear anymore, we can quit talking. I just want to feel you against me. I need you."

He ignored her entreaty. He was putting it together. At least some form of it. What kind of Dom wants to beat his submissives for the purpose of after care?

He beat them raw so he could treat them. Without drugs. _He wasn't stupid_. _He'd saved the drugs for himself._

He was killing himself while he saved the women over and over for years, every weekend, in his home. And he hated himself for it.

"Christ!" He slammed the mirror and his own reflection with the full force of his forearm, but it didn't shatter around him, his face remained staring back at him. Ana called to him, offering gentle words of love and kindness. He fought back the dark and dangerous urges and listened. His body responded too, aware of her nearness, and the realness of the intimacy she was laying out in hushed tones.

He washed up and made to exit, yanking the door open. With all his wild and unpredictable behavior, and their bizarre discussion about punishments, he wasn't surprised to see that Ana was guarded, even though she made no effort to step back when he came out. She's a strong woman.

"Chris, are you okay? You've got me worried."

"What did you say? Say it again." His face split in a surprised smile.

"I said are you okay, Chris?"

"No. I'll never be okay." He rubbed his face in her hair. "You make it all tolerable. And I love you for it." He captured her lips in a kiss unlike any other they'd shared. A renewal, a rebirth, he'd thought. _That's what she is._ "I love you so much Ana. Let's get some sleep."

She hesitated at the side of the bed. "No." She was restless again. A part of him needed the sleep, it'd been the heaviest day of his life, since returning from Kunduz. But what Ana wanted… she'd get. He coaxed her back onto the bed and they laid back down together, Ana atop his shaky body.

"No? You don't want to sleep, baby?" She shook her head. He needed to shift them to calm, he was on edge, and he needed to recover. "Ana... I really need-"

"Thank you." She purred, looking into some middle distance in the five inches between them.

"Thank you? For what sweet girl?" He rubbed her earlobe between his fingers.

"For letting me come back to you."

 _Come back to me? It's been five days, what's she taking about?_

"I was nervous." She went on. "I've been worked up all week that maybe…" she couldn't meet his eyes, "what we had was just some, twenty-four hour thing. Like a dream. I was your diversion from the murders," her voice dropped. "And…"

He bit the inside of his cheek. Seeing her doubt herself, didn't she understand? Her total effect on him? In every aspect of his life, her presence was like a scalpel to his brain, exorcising a lifetime of malignancies.

"Maybe that's why I was upset on the tarmac." Her voice was low and shaky.

"That was it? This?" He shook his head, upset that he hadn't expressed his affection sooner. "I thought it was the death of your father. "

Something flashed through Ana eyes, and a heavy beat went by before she found her voice. "No. It's you, Christian Grey."

"Us? That was it? That this... This? That what's between us is ... impermanent, baby?" It wasn't possible.

She turned away from him to climb off. It was such a dramatic move, he grabbed at her chin, to latch onto her, and match her rejection. He lifted his head to meet her and slid his lips across hers. He applied the softest pressure, and used his fingers under her chin to coax her mouth open.

Everything fell away, and they were connected again. Sure, by their mouths, but by understanding as well. And the sloppy, tender touches between their pink flesh, they were only the surface. This kiss was one for the ages, a soul binding connection woven between their breaths and whispered sounds, neither wanting their physicality to overwhelm this small, infinite moment of shared hearts.

The night fell away and their breaths became one.

"Ana." His voice cracked and her name was a force. "Ana, you are the tip of an ice berg. I can feel it." His eyes sought hers. "Can you? I'm crashing baby. I've crashed into you." His stare was galactic, the hardest he'd ever looked, bonding to her, owning every deep available corner she offered.

"Jesus, Christian, your grey eyes, they make me want to…" she held her words and arched herself into him. "God, what you make me feel." She giggled, then caught herself, the moment full of…"There it is again! Can you feel that, Christian? The shiver around my heart."

He smiled at her. "I want this, Ana… Us. I want you." He pulled her forehead against his. "You're _mine_. You have been since I saw you, and Sophie sent me to your apartment." He turned his head back and forth against her. "Even before last week, you had _my_ heart, Ana. You have all of me. Let me show you."

"You could say anything right now, doctor, and I'd believe it." She licked her lips, but her tongue caught his. He groaned at the intimacy. "Please, Christian. Let me show you. Please… Let me give you a massage. Please?"

The breath behind her begging whistled past his lips and left his mouth dry, and thirsty—for every fucking part of this woman. He nodded.

. . .

Christian awoke to the clear light of an early summer morning visible through the ceiling sky light, and the side windows reflected in the mirror across the room. He slowly registered his idyllic location, among the safest on the planet, lazing in the soft bed of the master suite inside Red Oak cabin, tucked into a valley in the Blue Ridge mountains.

The lightness of the day was a secondary sensation. His first was the heaviness of the beautiful woman wrapped in his arms, half on half off his slaked body. And if he was being honest, the smell of strawberries and spice, of _her_ … encouraged him to open his eyes. This was a first.

The first time he and Ana had woken up in bed together. Last week, she had risen earlier than he, and scurried off to the bathroom to take a call from her asshole ex. He'd missed this moment. This togetherness. Now, he savored it, her sexy form at rest, soft chestnut hair splayed in every direction.

He kissed her head as she nuzzled, tucked under his chin, her lips pressed against him as her sleepy drool cooled against his neck. It was the greatest and grossest feeling of his life. He laughed.

She perked her head up and they exchanged goofy dreamy-eyed greetings, while their hands made tactile confirmation that they were indeed together in bed.

The massage Ana had given him last night—was it a dream? It'd been perfect, glorious. She sat perched on his back wearing nothing but that silky skin of hers. He'd felt such peace under her straddled legs, his body responding to her hands and her soft words. She meant to calm and release a lifetime of exhaustion. Of fatigue. And she had. He was grateful.

The touch of Ana's tears, shed throughout the massage, falling against his spine, cleansing the marred skin at the base of his back, he'd never forget those sensations. Even now, a few hours later, he felt the tips of her soul that she'd shared with him through her hands and her sweet mouth.

Christian fought back against his impulses to destroy the vision in his mind. But fuck his self-loathing habits. For every memory of her kneading fingers, he pictured another man's body below her. And he couldn't bite back his envy, his fucking resentment that they would separate within the day, and she'd return to mending others.

"You're really going back?" They'd started this conversation last night, somewhere between all the connecting sex and his confessions. Now, the tension of their pending separation came back immediately, and he regretted his accusation, but couldn't take it back. He was so fucking powerless to this woman, to the fear of any kind of distance between them. His body shook, betraying his plans to love on her all morning long.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Of course I am."

Of course she was. He felt contempt. "You have a job at Seattle General. You don't need to do this Ana."

She didn't answer at first, as she rose up beside him. Instead she looked away and fresh tears were there. He hated himself for hurting her, but she was his. How could she not understand?

"Christian, it's only a week." At that he rose up too, sitting beside her, holding her shoulders square to his.

"It's not a week, Ana. It's a _choice_."

"Don't ask me to choose."

"I can't… I can't handle... I don't want you there." He scowled. "I picture you, touching other men…"

"What do you think will happen if I come back to Seattle?" God, was she crazy?

"I'll take care of you."

"What does that mean? You've known me a month."

"Thirty-six days, actually."

She started to protest but did a double-take. He smiled at her shocked expression. Yeah, he'd counted.

"And they are some of the best days of my life, baby."

"It's six days, Christian, they count on me."

"It's not six days. It's a culture and a connection to all these other men. And I can't stand it."

"God… you're impossible. I'm here now, I got these two days for us." She moved over him and sat in his lap, wrapping her body around his like a monkey. She kissed his nipple and pressed her cheek to his heart. "What if? What if I said I'd give it up? My job. For you?"

He didn't hesitate. "I'd say, I lov—"

She reared her head back, "No don't say it. Can you please get through breakfast without bringing this up? I'm looking forward to it, and I promise you, I will think about it?"

Just then, there was a knock on the door. They were required at breakfast, the voice announced.

Luke's voice carried through the door next. "Get your shoes on you two. I'm starving." Christian bit at Ana's hipbone while she laughed and made to stand. She grabbed her sweatshirt left on the floor the night before and walked to the front of the cabin while she zipped up.

"You'll think about it?" He called after her, pissed at how needy he sounded. He watched his girlfriend, covered in "property of Christian grey" waltz toward the front door.

Christian could hear her soft voice carry back to him. "I need half an hour Luke." The door shut and she walked back to Christian and shrugged. "I bought us thirty minutes, Dr. Grey, what do you wanna do?"

. . .

Michelle Obama and Ana Steele cooked breakfast together for Christian, the President's husband, and a few other congressmen and visiting dignitaries who were awake. As soon as they sat down, Mcihelle Obama asked Christian—the designated guest of honor—to describe life in the field as a volunteer for MSF.

"What is it like to work for Doctors Without Borders?" Everyone's head whipped from looking at the President to observing Christian.

He swallowed a bite of omelet and answered. "Anesthesiologists terms are six to eight weeks. Some doctors, surgeons, triage specialists, they only serve three week tours with massive breaks in between, because it can become intense quickly." Ana squeezed his thigh below the table. "Over the past ten years, I've been on a dozen missions, most are humanitarian and preventative medicine missions. It's not always combat."

He explained that the doctors live in tents, or depending where, they might end up in a traditional African tumult. "That's a mud hut with thatched roof. It's never glamorous, even for the surgeons and support stuff."

Someone asked about the carnage, and he was frank. "Sometimes, sure the war and the devastating injuries and blood are unfathomable, but you do your job. We are trained to get in there and, I don't know… to function. Every little action can save lives." He exchanged a look with Ana, and continued. "The other stuff is rough too though. The long-drop toilets. We take bucket showers by candlelight. It's not romantic, but basically if you're not working, you want to sleep. It's exhausting. "

"What about the weather?" someone asked.

"The weather can be pretty severe, the extreme heat and cold."

Ana giggled.

"What?"

"It's nothing." Her cheeks were crimson.

"What is it, Ana?"

"It's nothing. I thought you said 'sex-dreams,' and I didn't understand how THAT was a hardship." The table erupted in laughter.

She was a delight. How is that a woman so sweet and tender was with him? He had more work to do, that was obvious. He wanted to find a way to be with her. What were his goals? He had trouble forming coherent thoughts when he was with her.

"Ana, I love… I love your sense of humor."

"Thank you." She swallowed. "You were saying the weather sucks?"

He nodded, "Yeah, humidity can make can make Seattle feel dry and the dry desert conditions… Hell, Las Vegas is a fucking cake walk compared to the ovens we work in sometimes. Shit." His language. "Sorry, Madame President."

"Michelle," she chided. They exchanged smiles.

"The insects are another story all together," he continued. "These aren't normal. They're the size of walnuts and small birds. And of course…" he swallowed a strawberry and licked his lips. "These are delicious. Here—" he tried to feed Ana.

"That's okay." Ana was horrified at the familiarity. "I can eat my own food. It's a habit I developed in childhood."

"Oh sorry. I'm…" he let out a huge sigh and raised his eyebrows, surprising himself with how casual the whole morning felt. Much different than last Saturday and the police interrogation and the discovery that Leila was gone from his life. He pushed those thoughts away. "I'm enjoying myself, baby."

Senator Wyatt, who looked like a boiled tomato the whole time Christian was speaking, interrupted the jovial chatter, ready to continue the argument over Doctors Without Borders he'd begun the night before. "Last September Dr. Grey, your Doctors Without Borders refused a donation of one million vaccine doses from Leland BioPharmaceuticals, and I know you played a large hand in their decision."

Christian turned to the waiter behind and asked for more coffee, taking his time to stir in some cream. "Senator Wyatt, I'm glad you brought that up, even if this isn't the most appropriate setting and your timing is off. It's a problem for us, because we need cheap vaccines. We aren't inoculating Marin County. We're among starving peoples. Sure the optics are decent, but the reality is Leyland is screwing us over with their so-called donation. And that's a problem. The secrecy that shrouds the vaccine industry makes it impossible to have an educated discussion on reasonable vaccine prices. And we certainly can't do that now, here, while we're enjoying the wonderful meal the President has prepared for us."

"You're so sure of yourself, aren't you doctor? You think you know everything."

Christan drank his coffee. "I don't think I know everything, Senator." He smirked. "I do know that your company—"

"It's not my company."

"Your company made sixteen _billion_ dollars in just four years from their pneumococcal vaccine. That's three times the annual revenue of United fucking Airlines. For ONE drug." Christian shook his head. "If you had an agenda here senator, and my apologies to the President and my fellow guests, an agenda to undermine my charity, and take away from the humbling speech the President made, and the award she offered to me and _my_ charity, you made a serious miscalculation."

Again, Christian interrupted the Senator before he spoke. "Pneumonia is the leading cause of death in children worldwide. Did you know that? Over a million children a year. And Leyland prices the vaccine out of reach of the countries who need it the most? Why would they do that?" He finished his coffee and wiped his mouth. "With all the subsidies and shit, you still want to charge twenty-one dollars per child. It's fucking ridiculous. Sorry," he looked at the President. She was smiling, Ana was squeezing his thigh harder. And Christian was pissed.

"Doctors Without Borders gave you an option, **five** dollars per kid, and we will offer broad public support for all of Leyland's other programs. We were willing to look the other way as your CEO drives his Maseratis, the president of the board hosts his flamethrower parties with Malaysian mass murders. We don't give a fuck. We simply want to save children in the developing world. Immunize them against diseases none of your children and grand children get. You remember that? Or don't you have any children?" Wyatt was boiling, his wife had to restrain him in his chair.

Michelle addressed Christian, chiding his boldness. "Now… hold it right there Dr. Grey. I hear what you're saying. I have no problem with your position. The US government too supports the lower price vaccines. But leave his family out of it. Policy doesn't have to get personal at this table. Not today."

"Fine, they should lift their fucking patents, reduce their prices, and maybe we'd quit complaining. Madame President, you may not know this, but the patents filed by Leyland are valid in most developing countries through 2028. That means it's another decade before the… the generic, cheaper alternatives to the drugs can be manufactured. These fucking patents basically turn Leyland into one giant vampire monopoly and effectively restricts access to affordable medicines for the poorest people with the most need."

"I thought you didn't care about the politics doctor? Or was all this—" Wyatt waved his arms around. "Was all this just a publicity stunt to get your agenda in front of the President?"

Christian was seething. "These countries, they are spending all their money for your fucking vaccine while you and your drug overloads are rich, greasing government pockets and the children suffer. Stuck on antibiotics, or nothing. I see it. You take this back to your bosses."

"How dare you."

"I dare, Wyatt. I fucking dare." Christian stood to leave, grabbing Ana's hand. "The well being of the world's children, it's _children_ , is beholden to the priorities and values of multinationals like Leyland whose interests exceed the simple human goal of finding solvent paths to progress and human wellbeing. You're fucking children for profits." Christian nodded to the President and her husband, then turned to leave.

"What about the whole first do no harm doctor?" Christian stopped at that, and slowly turned back, ready to fight.

"They have you programmed don't they?"

Michelle Obama spoke up and commanded the room. "Christian, come back and have some of my coffee cake. And no one at the table disputes that YOU would know better. And that getting access to these vaccines shouldn't be a financial issue. The goal is to save lives, right?" She shifted to the senator. "There is plenty of money Senator Wyatt, for Leyland Pharma to find success elsewhere." She pinned the senator in her stare. "Now, if you're telling me you need the support of the pharmaceutical industry to win your next election, I think you should reevaluate who you are. Are you a citizen of the people, or a citizen of the pharmacy?"

"Meesh, that's enough." Barack held her hand.

But she went on, looking in Christian's direction for support. "And then think about your sponsors, Wyatt." She smirked. "Is Leyland Bio really only supporting you because you are willing to do their bidding to profit from the most humanitarian drugs?"

Senator Wyatt made to speak but she cut him off.

"Why do you think so many drugs exist for treating erectile dysfunction, senator?"

Ana choked on her tea… completely overwhelmed by the fact that the President of the United States said erectile dysfunction while her husband sat next to her. Ana and Christian exchanged a look that said, _'oh my god we are so discussing this later.'_

"Or drugs for male pattern baldness?" She added.

"Breakfast was great, Christian. Thanks for that," Ana deadpanned on their way out. "I'm still amazed to be dining with the President and Barack yet again. Incredible. Too bad you had speak your damn mind. You should steer clear of Wyatt." He kissed her quiet, and all was right again with the world.

"Fucking Wyatt… Felix would deal with his sorry ass and keep him far far away from MFS and the new mission this fall."

With Christian's arm slung around Ana, they held hands at her shoulder as they walked back toward Red Oak alone. The rest of the breakfast guests were dispersing as well. Behind them, Luke walked with another security guard, as the entourage of secret service and bodyguards kept pace.

Christian's face actually hurt. Except for the obnoxious exchange with Wyatt, he'd been grinning from the moment they arrived to breakfast and it was all Ana's fault. The past twenty-four hours were the best of his life and he let his mind drift to crazy ideas.

He bit his tongue, imaging what Felix and Elliot would make of his lovestruck demeanor. He knew he was flying with this vixen slash angel on his hip. Hell, his future life had changed in the last day. Maybe he'd discovered that elusive unicorn pussy that Felix always talked about. That Elliot married.

 _Unicorn pussy, Elliot's wedding,_ Christian scoffed. Not in this lifetime, she'll figure me out, find that she doesn't have time for a lemon, she doesn't have time for such a broken man, even if he is honest, even if she could accept his past. Hell, he was facing murder charges in Seattle. Don't forget that pleasant future.

Ana huffed out a breath as they walked along, and leaned into him a little, speaking in hushed tones just under his chin. "You might want Luke to check his credentials, if he's going to keep eating all his meals with the big boys from the Secret Service."

Her voice dripped sarcasm and defeat in each brokered syllable.

And there it was… his heart sank at his deception. They stopped walking and Christian surveyed the security faces to see if anyone caught wind of Ana's insinuations.

"Luke Sawyer is full of shit." She added.

"What do you…" _She's caught on. She knows._ "What do you mean?"

She looked disappointed with his question—her expression begging another confession. "REALLY? I mean… his badge says 'Lieutenant Los Angeles Police' Christian."

He had nothing to say. He stared at her mouth, reluctant to see the full Ana blue-eyed disappointment.

"As in Los Angeles, California? _Not_ Seattle."

"Ana—"

"It's okay Christian. I get it. I do. We can talk later, but you should know. You can tell me anything. Maybe I don't need to know everything, but you can trust me." She kissed him and started walking again, squeezing his fingers to come along. As they approached their cabin, she added, "No secrets, okay?"

He hugged her against him and kissed her temple, humming his agreement as they set off again for their cabin.

After they said goodbye to Luke, and made plans to reconnect later for skeet shooting, Christian grabbed Ana by the waist and ran back to Red Oak with her hoist over his shoulder.

Inside, she shimmied down his torso and they shucked off their shoes in the vestibule. She began sauntering backwards, working her blouse out of her pants, making a goofy face that she probably thought was seductive.

Christian stopped, her last words still echoing in his mind. "Fuck, you said no secrets, baby?" His low growly voice echoed in the narrow hall.

Ana slowed. "Yes, no secrets. I…" she was slack jawed and her hands fell to her sides balling into cute little fists.

"Yeah, no secrets." He bit his lip, to fight back a smile. But he couldn't help himself, he smirked as he thought about what to say. "Seeing you yesterday, Ana. Being together again…" Maybe fearing rejection, he deliberately stared at her flawless exposed skin as he ran his fingers over her collar bones, letting them rest in the hollow at the base of her neck.

"Christian Grey. Are you blushing?" He took a step back and shrugged.

"I know you said you'd think it over, Ana." He hesitated, finding his words. "See, the thing is… _I've_ done some thinking this morning, and I wondered if you would come back to Seattle with me now. Not in two weeks."

Ana choked on impulse, "I don't know Chri—"

"No. That wasn't a question." He watched her for any reaction. When she didn't say anything, she pouted, her sassy mouth in a straight line, he barreled on. "I hadn't realized how small the network of team doctors is in the National Football League." She furrowed her brow. "God you're adorable. Anyway, it turns out that between us, Dr. Taylor and I know quite a few."

"You know quite a few what, Christian?" Ana looked panicked. He swallowed his own.

"Team doctors." He feigned innocence. "For the NFL… teams." Ana's face was priceless. Her shock was only outweighed by the heavy silence of what they both knew he was about to suggest. "As I was saying, while you were getting dressed this morning, and while you were slowly fucking the carpet—"

"It's called _yoga_." She nodded through a growing smile.

"While you were doing yoga… in barely any clothes—"

"For your benefit, doctor."

"While you were doing yoga in barely any clothes. 'For my benefit.' And later at breakfast, while you were off in the kitchen with the First Lady again, I exchanged several calls with Taylor. Even dragged his ass out of bed to help me find a backup masseuse to take your place at your training camp." He grinned and held his arms open, like he'd just won a marathon.

"Christian—"

"Before you say anything else, I want you to know that, I took these steps. Steps for purely selfish motives," he paused for effect and put his hand across his heart. "thinking nothing of your career, your love of the Redskins, your commitment to healing or any thing of that sort." He reached out with his hand and closed her open mouth. He followed his hand to lean in and kiss her nose. "I'm operating on a life saving mission."

Her narrowed eyes held his, a visual caress. "Who's life are we saving today, doctor?"

"Mine, of course. I'll die if I'm apart from you for another week." He swiped his phone and held it up for her to see the exchange. "It's done, arrangements have been made."

"Arrangements?"

"Arrangements have been made."

"Just like that?"

He drew a breath in with his whole body and shook his head on the exhale. "Just like that." He beamed. They were standing so close, their bodies almost touching. He waited on her response.

Ana stared a really long time, studying his face like one might study the edges of a puzzle piece, looking for the only one that fits. She massaged her lips between her teeth, then scrunched her nose up, and nodded. Ana stepped up on Christian's barefeet and rose to her toes, her arms snaking around his neck pulling him down to her. And she kissed him, letting her mouth rest against his. Then she kissed him again.

Kiss. And again.

Kiss.

Kiss.

Kiss. Innocent pecks followed by her own approving hums, deeper and deeper, finally licking the seam of his mouth. The kiss turned into a wild exchange of lust and desire. He pushed her backwards toward the bed, pulling at her clothes, but she tripped on something, and they separated, bursting into laughter.

"Dance with me." She nodded. They swayed in silence, caught up in each other. Stealing glances and exchanging silent expressions of commitment, of understanding, of peace. He may have hummed in her ear, an old melody, the words forgotten (I'm Yours).

She stared at him some more. And ran her nose across his jaw. "You were very busy this morning." She scratched at his stubbled face.

"Mhmm, for you. All for you."

"And here I thought you decided not to shave because this scruff makes you more handsome."

* * *

 ** _They've finished with their time in Camp David. What do you think? Did you enjoy it? Christian has really exorcised all his demons. I wonder what we may learn about Ana soon? What are you looking forward to? It's been a week since the murders. What is next for them? Let me know. I love your feedback. It really helps. :)_**


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